Angels' Decree
by 8inchCaliper
Summary: The angels have been sentenced to life as humans, and during this time they learn more than they ever could have - about life and about themselves. Rated T for language and possible adult-ish themes in later chaps. COMPLETE! PlZ R/R! Thanx!
1. Chapter 1

chap 1

An Irish woman perched on the edge of a balcony in a low class inner city neighborhood as the sun began to rise from beneath the fertile earth. Her long dark reddish tresses were gathered up into a loose bun as she watched the first signs of life, human life, flow into morning routine.

Inside the cramped apartment, her two other roomies were already up and murmuring rude remarks to one another about who used the other's eye liner or who borrowed the other one's scarf but never gave it back.. If it wasn't that, then it was something about stolen money or wasted beers or used toiletries.

The Irish woman kept her distance, unable and unwilling to get involved this morning. She usually tried to intervene because something inside her couldn't stand to see people unhappy or hopeless. Seeing others happy drove her somehow, made her feel more complete. Incidentally, she wouldn't get off without being dragged into their ritual dispute.

"Monica, have you seen my nose ring?"

The redhead turned toward the sound of the voice, the oldest of the women and the angriest, Jaime. Her blond hair was shaved on the one side of her head so that the scythe tattoo was visible to onlookers. Monica offered a slight smile.

"Um, I don't think I've seen it. What did it look like?"

Jaime rolled her eyes. "It's a nose ring. Either you've seen it or you haven't."

Monica shook her head, apologetic. "Sorry. I haven't."

"Figures." Jaime stormed back into the house, cursing. Monica mused silently that maybe Jaime wouldn't keep misplacing her things if she would show up sober once in a while or not high on some recreational drug. Just as she was about to drift back into the sanctuary of her thoughts, she heard shouting behind her.

"Monica," her other roommate, Caryn came out, dreadlocks tangled about her dark head. "Can you tell Jaime that I didn't take her nose ring. First of all, I don't even have my nose pierced – and secondly, why would I even want to touch that thing?"

Monica tried to be sympathetic, but the negativity was getting the best of her. These girls made life almost impossible to enjoy. Their constant bickering came second only to their constant partying, and the partying was even worse than the fighting because at least they were relatively safe during the fighting. They generally limited themselves to harsh words and gestures, but it was harmless for the most part. The partying, on the other hand, seemed to be deliberately destructive. There were always strange men and women in the apartment, liquor, drugs and sex. Jaime played in a band whose lyrics were intentionally meant to hurt or anger the masses with talk of suicide or killing and disrespecting ones mother or uncle.

Caryn, on the other hand, was a compulsive gambler who was basically a decent human being, pudgy and sweet but who'd been disowned by her parents for gambling away their funds and causing their home to be foreclosed upon. Now, however, she and Jaime seemed to be locked in constant battle, except when they were drunk or high or laying tangled with some strange body they picked up at a club the night before.

Monica was always dismayed to find herself caught up in the whirlwind of it all, but she did her best to stay strong. She did most of the chores around the house because she didn't mind and because she brought in less money from her job than the other two. She offered as much encouragement as she could to the other girls, feeling, somehow, that it was her duty to keep up morale when things got especially stressful. She hated to admit it, however, but she was glad when they were out of the house so that she could have a bit of serenity and peace of mind. And she enjoyed to do her paintings.

When she was all alone, she loved to paint, glorious landscapes of places she always wanted to visit, nooks and crannies of places in such intricate detail that others would have sworn she'd been there – only she hadn't. The images came to her in dreams almost like memories. It filled her with joy to do this, and it made her feel like she was offering something back to the world, or something to God – like a prayer.

Before coming to stay with her two current roommates, Monica had no recollection of her past except that she'd been found sleeping in a bus stop by a policeman and offered a place to sleep in a women's shelter for the night. Everything had seemed so foreign to her, but she was in mostly good spirits except for the loneliness. She could scarcely recall her life before waking on the street that night, but she could never remember being completely alone.

"If my mother calls, tell her I died." Jaime told Monica as she lit a cigarette and stepped out into the hallway closely followed by Caryn who made a face.

"And I'm pretty sure, my mother won't be calling." she said as she shrugged, a sad smile on her lips as she waved a bit and pushed a dreadlock out of her face.

Monica returned the smile as she saw them off. She was still staring after them long after they'd left the building, and she felt a certain longing as the emptiness set in. Something about the two of them had drawn her in. When she'd interviewed to be the third roommate, they'd come across as a little too much for her. She felt certain that she'd never get any sleep with the two of them staying up late and carrying on with their daily lifestyle. In the end though, something had made her sign the lease.

Sometimes, something in Jaime's face made her remember something about her life before now. Maybe it was her grim view of life or maybe it was her sandy blond hair. Sometimes, the light would catch it a certain way and she would be reminded of someone, but she didn't know who. Caryn had a similar effect on her, the way her warm brown hand would rest on Monica's shoulder or the way she'd offer some encouragement in her steady deep voice. Also, she would hum sometimes, a soulful tune, and Monica would feel a tremble up her spine, gooseflesh up her arms. It was strange that these two women could bring her any sort of comfort, but in their own way they did.

When the clock was almost at three o'clock, Monica set out for her job, a mere two blocks away in a little coffee shop. She liked it there because she loved the smell and she didn't have any real duties aside from sweeping, changing coffee and stacking cups. For some reason, the manager never let her run register because he'd heard that she was living with a notorious gambler and didn't want to take any chances – but that was fine with Monica because she hated dealing with money. It seemed so pointless.

She was courteous to the customers, and often people complimented her on her accent or told her what a calming disposition she had. Someone once told her she had a golden aura, although she wasn't sure what they meant by that. Her manager liked her well enough and even let her hang some of her landscapes on the walls because they were so beautiful and held a nice rustic quality about them. She felt modest about them, but she also felt glad that others could enjoy them the way she did.

After a six-hour shift, she returned home, not exactly tired from being on her feet, not exactly hungry. She tended to acknowledge these needs because she felt it was the thing to do. Often, the need to sleep took her by surprise, almost as if she were just learning to do it; the same with eating. She imagined it had always been an enjoyable experience, but never necessary as it was now. Of course, she never voiced her thoughts on this matter because her roommates would look sideways at her and tell her she needed her head examined.

"I'm ordering pizza." Caryn said when she came in later. "I don't even feel like cooking anything." she glanced over at Monica. "You want anything special on it?"

Monica shrugged. "Black olives?"

Caryn smirked at her. "Black olives it is. You want sausage?"

Monica nodded. "Alright. A wee bit of meat never hurt anyone."

"Have I ever told you how cute your accent is?"

"Everyday, I think." Monica's smile was good-natured as Caryn grinned and dialed the number.

Jaime didn't get home until later, long after the pizza had arrived and been mostly eaten. She was flanked by two Japanese girls and a man in an Abe Lincoln costume. Monica watched in awe from the couch as they strolled across the living room, laughing, smelling of alcohol.

"Any messages?" Jaime asked Monica since Caryn had already gone to bed.

Monica shook her head, "No. Except one from the plumbing company. They said they would send someone out tomorrow." Monica glanced at the clock on the wall that said it was already after midnight. "Make that today."

"Cute accent." the man said, his black goatee a perfect touch. "You never told me your roommate was Irish."

Monica blushed and looked away from him as Jaime snorted. "She ain't your type, Eric, so give it up."

"How do you know?" he shrugged, winking at Monica. "You think she'd wanna join?"

Jaime smirked. "Hey, Monica, you wanna join?"

Monica looked baffled. "Join what?"

"Oh, me and Kiki and Amy and Eric were going to play in my bed." she paused for effect. "Eric wondered if you wanted in?"

Monica felt her ears blaze. She didn't even know how to respond. "No." was all she found it in herself to say. She was so thrown by the suggestion that she got up and stormed into her bedroom, the sound of giggling following her as well as the burn of Eric's stare. She closed and locked her door and sank into her bed, anger threatening to crush her. She could never remember her religious proclivities before now, but it seemed appropriate to pray, just for strength, if nothing else. Otherwise, she felt she might lose herself.


	2. Chapter 2

Monica stayed in her room for the rest of the night and didn't even answer when Caryn knocked in the morning, letting her know that she'd made coffee, Monica's favorite drink.

Instead, she stayed seated Indian style on her bed, where she had sat the entire night, and waited until she was sure she was alone. She didn't like most of Jaime's friends, but she especially hated when they made her feel bad or treated her like she was one of them. She couldn't explain it, but she just knew she was different.

It was nearly nine o'clock when she got up and went to the door and peaked out. The apartment was empty and she felt a great sense of relief. The coffee had gone cold, but she just reheated it in the microwave and it almost tasted fresh again.

The night had been spent contemplating everything. She wondered why she got so insulted when people spoke in a suggestive tone to her or when people assumed she was like Jaime. She didn't participate in drug or alcohol use, and it made her uncomfortable when issues turned to sex because it didn't seem natural for her. She felt embarrassed by it or frightened of it. Even while she knew she was technically no different than either of her roommates, it just felt different for her. She wondered if she had always been that way. For instance, right now she felt the sudden surge of hunger and exhaustion that always managed to catch her by surprise, as if she wasn't used to it yet. She occasionally stayed awake all night and stared off the balcony into the stars or went a whole day without eating because she simply forgot to. But she knew she eventually needed to eat and sleep or it would only get worse.

After foraging in the fridge for leftover Chinese noodles and pizza, she stumbled to her bed and slept for four hours, sprawled on top of the comforter, her hair fanned out across her pillow like a great wavy red wing.

The knock at the front door woke her, and she sat up in her bed, groggy and disoriented. She padded in her socks into the living room, imagining who it could be; both roommates would have their keys.

"Who is it?" Monica asked through the door, as Caryn had instructed.

"I'm the plumber, from J.C.'s Plumbing. Here to fix the shower." His voice sounded pleasant to Monica, and she nodded, although he couldn't see.

"Yes. Of course - " She opened the door and was immediately caught off guard. The man was like none she had ever seen before – only something about him seemed vaguely familiar. She must've stared for a long time because he smiled, and shrugged.

"Should I come in or…"

"Oh. Forgive me." Her ears turned hot as she moved out of the way to let him pass. "I'm Monica." She averted her eyes as he moved into the threshold.

"I'm Andrew." He smiled, his green eyes lit up as if from within. He seemed so pure; it ached Monica to look at him. Or maybe there was another reason… His sandy blond hair was cut close and he seemed very clean as he stood in the center of the living room. Monica thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and then she chastised herself for the thought. "Have we met before?" He asked, eyebrows knitted. "You seem very familiar."

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think so."

He grinned. "I guess not. I would have remembered that accent."

She thought, but didn't say aloud, that she could never forget a face like his.

"The shower is that way, last door on the right." She gestured for him as he tossed her a smile of thanks and went to work.

Monica sat in the kitchen the entire time, afraid to be near him. He seemed too nice to be real and he stirred something within her. She wanted to talk to him or have him talk to her. She wanted to know about him, about where he came from and what he liked to do. She wanted to be his friend, but she didn't dare ask. She had no idea how she would anyway without sounding desperate or weird, so she decided to just forget about it – even though it was difficult not to think about it when he was so close, just a few doors down, the sound of his tools at work.

Soon, the sound of the door opening let Monica know at least one of her roommates was home and she hoped to God that it was Caryn and not Jaime. At least Caryn was a nice person with a nice demeanor who wouldn't offend Andrew or make him feel bad.

"Hey Monica." Thank God, it was Caryn. "I was worried about you this morning."

"Yes. I had a rough night." Monica figured she'd let it go at that. "By the way, the plumber is here. He's workin' on the shower."

"Oh yeah?" Caryn peaked around the corner. "It's about time we got that thing fixed." To Monica, she whispered. "Is he cute?"

Startled by the question, Monica coughed. "Uh… He's… um…"

Just then, Andrew poked his head into the room and waved towards Caryn. "Hello, I'm the plumber."

"So I've been told." Caryn glanced at Monica whose cheeks were slightly pinker than before. "How's the shower coming?"

"Actually, I'm going to have to come back tomorrow." Andrew said, his voice apologetic. "I need my other tool box, and I don't want to keep you ladies awake all night with my pounding."

Caryn grinned at the double meaning, even while Monica and Andrew were both oblivious. "Oh, that's no problem. Tomorrow is fine. We'll be glad to have you."

"Well, thanks." He rubbed his hands on his dungarees and extended one towards Caryn. "Nice meeting you." And then towards Monica who hesitated only briefly. "Look forward to seeing you tomorrow." His hand was warm and Monica found it was difficult letting go. "I'll have your shower up and running tomorrow. That's a promise." He said and then he was gone.

Caryn sat at the kitchen table with Monica and drilled her with her stare. "So, what's the scoop? Do you two know each other?"

Monica shook her head, nervously playing in her long reddish tresses. "I've never met him before today."

"But you like him. That much was obvious." Caryn's dreadlocks swayed as she spoke. "I thought you were going to break out in hives, you were so nervous."

"He seems like a nice man…" Monica's voice was very quiet. "…but…"

"But nothing! You are so full of it, Monica." Caryn teased. "You liked him a lot, and you can damn well deny it if you want, but it was plain as the nose on my face – and he liked you too. I could tell. I'm great at reading people." She got up from the table and went for the fridge, musing to herself. "I wonder if he's married…"

Monica sat stewing, angry with herself for feeling this strongly towards Andrew. She felt certain that it was the wrong thing to do, to get caught up in someone else. It just seemed too earthy and too close to something resembling attraction. She didn't want to be like Jaime, spending time caught up in some guy, only to end up taking them to bed. She hated that the thought of being romantic with Andrew stirred something inside her, within the deepest recesses of her mind. She just knew it was wrong – even if it felt so right.

Later, after Caryn had smoked a cigarette (on the balcony, at Monica's request) and then gone out with friends to a show, Monica cooked rice for dinner with vegetables and some nice butter salt for herself. Caryn had asked Monica to go out with her – in fact, she asked Monica to go out all the time, but Monica always refused. She preferred to stay in if she could help it because she thought the nightlife seemed too bawdy. In the daytimes, she liked to visit parks or museums, but she mostly stayed to herself because although she enjoyed people, she hated the evil they were capable of, and she was terrified to discover that side of herself. Even though, at times, it seemed inevitable…

It was late when Jaime came in, and this time she was alone. She seemed quiet now, but her eyes were glazed like they always were when she snorted coke. Monica was on the couch reading a book and glanced up as Jaime linked eyes with her.

"Are you mad at me?" Jaime half-smirked, but there was no mirth in her face.

"It's not you that I'm angry at." Monica said in a soft voice. "It's you're lifestyle."

"Well, I can't help it, okay?" Jaime dragged a hand across her shock blond hair. "I can't change who I am."

Monica put down the book. "That's where you're wrong, Jaime. You can change. You just don't want to."

"You're always judging me, Monica." Jaime's voice sounded exhausted. "That's all you do is judge everybody. Like you're above it all. Anyway, just forget it. I only wanted to apologize for Eric. He's an asshole."

"You don't have to be around people like that." Monica felt so sad for Jaime, but didn't know what to do. "You should make friends with good people."

"Yeah, well, this isn't an episode of Barney the Dinosaur, okay? Do you accept my apology or not?"

Monica nodded. "Yes. I accept."

"Good." Jaime's eyes were clouded. "Then, we're cool?"

"Yes, we're cool."

"Sweet. Goodnight."

Monica nodded as Jaime stumbled off towards her bedroom. Monica leaned her head back against the couch cushions and had a vision of an angel perched on the balcony, her flowing white robes tangled in its wrought iron bars. Even though the angel was glowing and nearly as bright as the sun, no one on the streets paid much attention to her or even noticed she was there, and the angel began to cry. But the oddest part was that the face of the angel was blurred, so that Monica couldn't see her or tell what she looked like.

When she opened her eyes, she felt a strong need to capture the image on canvas, so she did. She pulled out her easel, laid a canvas across it and got her paints. She didn't finish until morning, and when she did, she felt it was a job well done.

"That's a masterpiece." Caryn declared when she got up the next morning. "You should really think about trying to sell some of these."

"I guess that's not really what its about." Monica stifled a yawn as she washed paint off her hands.

"Your angel doesn't have a face." Jaime said, staring at the canvas. "What's up with that?"

"I don't know." Monica called over her shoulder.

"Hey, what time is that guy coming? That plumber?" Jaime asked.

"I don't know, but maybe Monica does." Caryn teased, and Monica shook her head, to show her displeasure.

"I have to work early today." She said. "Overtime." She felt a pang at having to tell a small lie, but it was worth it not to commit an even bigger sin by gawking at Andrew all day. She asked Caryn to wait for him instead.

"Sure." Caryn smirked. "I'd love to hang around - for him."

Jaime made a face. "What is he, like some Backstreet Boy or something? You two are practically drooling over here."

"I'm going to go get ready for work." Monica made a hasty exit, so she wouldn't have to deal with any more implications.

Once she was out in the bright summer air, Monica felt at peace with everything around her. The sun was shining, and the trees and plants were so green. She didn't have to be at work for three hours, but she thought she could spend an eternity here in the park. It was lush and lovely and the birds sang so sweetly, she thought she might cry. The duck pond was alive with fish and children nearby playing at its edge and feeding bits of bread to the mallards.

If she could find a shady spot, Monica thought she could maybe sit back against a tree and catch a few minutes of sleep she missed again last night. It was such a warm perfect day, and so peaceful, but something told her to keep walking. She felt drawn to the large old theatre at the edge of the path and headed directly towards it, her feet carrying her almost of their own accord. She knew she needed to go there, if for no other reason than to lean against the cool heavy brick.

When she got to within a few feet, she looked up at the large awnings, her dark eyes roaming over the large white marquis that would later be surrounded with lights to announce its headliner for the night. There was a man on a ladder, putting up the letters with a long metal pole, to spell out the name of the actor or singer or comedienne who would be up and coming, but Monica's eyes found the posters, finally, announcing her: The Countess.

Something about that photo took Monica's breath away. She was a large, stately woman in black skin and with rivers of hair, dark and silver, flowing across one shoulder. Her beautiful smile and twinkling eyes seemed so familiar to Monica that she had to rest a hand against the rough brick wall for balance. The Countess was draped in furs above a gown lined in glittering beads, pearls arranged around her neck and dangling from her ears.

With great difficulty, Monica backed away from the poster, turned and headed towards her job. It was early, but she needed to occupy herself somehow, to chase away the sensation that she was going insane. Caryn would say that she needed rest or needed to unwind. Jaime would tell her she was in need of a drink or a hit off her bong – and neither one of them were right. Or maybe they were both right.

At work, Monica began sweeping floors, taking drink orders and washing cups. She went through her shift in a virtual daze, but otherwise remained pleasant as usual. Only her boss noticed she seemed a little out of sorts, but she simply told him she wasn't really feeling herself, which wasn't actually a lie. In truth, she didn't think she knew herself anymore.

After her shift, Monica walked straight back to the apartment, intending to fall right into bed and sleep straight until morning. She liked her life simple, the way it was. She didn't like pressure or influences threatening to make her into someone she wasn't, even if sometimes pressure wasn't so bad, and influences could be okay…

When she got to her building, she stopped for a minute to find the key on the ring and looked back up to find she was staring into green eyes. She immediately lowered hers.

"Hello." She said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Hi, Monica." Andrew studied her face. She always looked so nervous. "I just finished the job. It took longer than I thought, but I had hoped I would see you."

Now Monica forced herself to meet his stare. "I had to work."

"But now you're done?"

Monica nodded. "Yes. I suppose I am."

He contemplated her. "You're probably going to think I'm being… forward. And believe me, it's not my intention, I promise, but I wondered," he sighed, the words getting lost in his throat. "If maybe you'd like to get dinner or something sometime." He shut his eyes, fearing that she'd say no. In fact, he was sure she'd say no.

"Dinner?" Monica's fears were realized because she hadn't wanted to see him and she hadn't wanted to make this kind of decision – but again, she had forgotten to eat and the thought of doing so now, with him, seemed like a gift from God… "Alright. Sure."

"Really?" his smile was slow, relieved. "I honestly thought you were going to say no."

"I almost did." She said, looking into his soft face, the features so smooth and kind.

"Oh? What made you change your mind?" he thought maybe he was pushing his luck, but he wanted to know.

She shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know, but you seem like such a nice man. I thought it might be nice to have dinner with you and talk."

He nodded. "Good. I thought the same thing about you. So, when do you want to go?"

Monica's stomach rumbled. "How about right now?"

He chuckled. "Right now? Okay. Sure. But maybe I should go home and change…"

"No." she stopped him. "You look fine. And there's something humble about a man with a wee bit of dirt on his hands, in his work clothes having a meal."

"Your accent," he said, "is amazing. I know you've heard that before."

"Once or twice." She said as he opened the passenger's side door of his truck to let her in, before climbing into the driver's side and pulling away from the curb and into the dusky night.


	3. Chapter 3

It was late as Monica and Andrew strolled along the pier together, mostly in a comfortable silence. Dinner was the same as they both ate and made small talk, her nibbling bits of bread and vegetable, him sipping water between bites of meat and potato. It was difficult to explain why things felt so strange and yet so familiar. After being with him for a longer period of time, Monica was now convinced that she knew him from before, but the sensation only served to frustrate her because she was positive she never met him before now.

"Are you cold?" he finally asked, taking her out of her reverie.

She looked at him and shook her head. "I'm fine." Her dark eyes seemed so inquisitive to him, but she didn't say much. Instead she smiled and spoke in small phrases. She seemed content just to be with him, but he wanted to know more about her, about where she came from, her likes and dislikes.

"It's weird," he finally broke the silence again. "I can't remember much about my past before coming here. Maybe I woke up out of a coma or…" he shrugged. ".. I don't know." he turned hazel eyes on her. "What about you, Monica?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes, I feel like I've always been here. Sometimes… I don't know…"

"I know what you mean." he smiled.

"Sometimes," she continued, "I don't know what to think about anything. My roommates, my life, it's all so sketchy – like everything just came into being."

He felt a jolt up his spine at hearing her words. It was all so familiar. "I feel the same way."

When he dropped her off in front of her apartment building, they stared at each other a long time before she extended her hand towards him, the night making her hair seem almost black as the wind played in it.

"Goodnight, Andrew."

"Goodnight, Monica." he said softly. "I had a good time."

She could only nod as he turned and walked away, the moonlight at his back.

Inside his truck, Andrew sat for a few moments, thinking about her. It was nearly time for his night job, but he didn't feel tired at all. He didn't rest very well at night because sleeping came so difficult for him. His third shift job as an EMS technician kept him busy but somehow Andrew felt suited for it.

He saw a lot of sickness and death and he handled it all very well, and patients considered him to be a calming spirit. Old ladies reached up for him with their last bit of strength, children clinged to him as they lay frightened on a gurney, and others simply stared into his eyes as he held tight to their hands, a lifeline… or a death line. At any rate, Andrew tried not to let the really tough cases get to him, but occasionally they did. During those times, he'd spend the rest of the early morning hours alone, brooding inside his one room apartment, wondering what life was really all about.

Now that he met Monica, it felt like she was always in his life. Her sweet little smile, her voice, the way she spoke with her hands. She was slight and beautiful, and her hair was endless waves of dark red that he knew he could get lost in, drown in, if only he had the opportunity. But somehow, something was holding him back from it. He didn't know how to proceed with her because he sensed it from her end too, but he did know that he didn't want to miss one single chance to be near her again.

The next morning, Monica woke up late and was greeted by her roommates' grinning faces.

"You were out late." Caryn, smirked. "Let me guess. Andrew?"

Monica made a face as Jaime snorted. "So, did he stay over?"

Monica was too embarrassed to answer straight away. Instead she murmured a reserved, "Of course not."

Caryn elbowed her. "Pig! Monica isn't like you. She _does_ have some morals."

"Morals my ass." Jaime, reached underneath her arm to scratch her hairy armpit. "She needs to get laid. Then maybe she won't be such a stick in the mud."

Ignoring Jaime, Caryn turned to Monica. "Did you have a good time."

Monica nodded. "Yes. It was very nice. We went to dinner. Then we walked along the pier downtown. He's a very nice man."

Jaime huffed, brushing past the two women. "Good. Maybe you'll marry him."

As she exited, Monica followed her with her eyes. "Do you think she's angry?"

"She's always like that, Monica. You know how Jaime is. Last night, while you were having a wonderful date with a good and kind man, she was here arguing with one of her gay lovers about some missing dime bag." Caryn shrugged a shoulder. "Same old stuff."

"Is she alright?" Monica asked, her innocent tone surprising Caryn, not for the first time.

"Monica, didn't you hear what I just said? Jaime is a loose canon. She has no place to go but down."

The thought of that sent a pang through Monica so sharp that she felt herself welling up with emotion. "I should go talk to her."

She stood outside the door to Jaime's room and raised her hand to knock. She couldn't explain the sense of guilt that she felt at having someone suffering right in front of her face and she could do nothing but watch and be a bystander. It felt unfair somehow. "Jaime, can I come in?"

"Go away, Monica."

"I only want to talk. Please."

There was a moments pause before the door opened a crack and Jaime glared out at Monica, her eyes icy and blue as an arctic snow drift. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Why not?"

Jaime rolled her eyes and sighed. "We got nothing to talk about."

Monica lingered there, a small smile playing at her lips. "I think we could be friends, Jaime, if only you'd give it a chance."

"No, why would a goodie two-shoes like you ever want to be friends with me?"

Monica shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because you have a good heart underneath it all. And maybe you've got a wee bit of a soft spot for me as well…"

Jaime blushed and averted her eyes. "Go away, Monica."

"If you tell me why you're angry with me, then we can talk about it."

"I don't want to talk. Just go be with your new boyfriend, Andrew." she slammed the door in Monica's face as Monica simply stood there, stunned.

"But, he's not my boyfriend. He's just… a nice plumber. A friend…"

Just then Caryn came past, yawning. "Give it up, Monica. She's a lost cause. She'll only bring you down." She patted her on the back and hummed. "I'm going to bed. Nite."

Monica nodded. "Goodnight." Then she trudged off towards her own bed and fell into a deep sleep. As she tossed and turned, she found herself dreaming of an angel again, but this time it was a different angel, a man this time, on a tree limb and dressed in white. She couldn't see his face, but he was majestic and yet so sad. Below him was the body of a fallen soul. Monica woke with a start, frightened of the dream, but she couldn't resist the urge to paint him.

Her hand was driven by some unseen force, and she couldn't stop until the painting was complete. At the same time she put the final strokes to the canvas, the sun was peeking up over the horizon. In the morning, she was so exhausted, she could barely remain standing. Her hair was wild about her head, thick reddish locks tangled about her shoulders.

When Caryn emerged from her bedroom, dressed and ready for work, she gaped at the painting. "Dang, that's one hell of a print." then at Monica. "Are you okay? Have you been at it all night?"

Monica could only nod. It was as if she'd lost her voice.

"Well, you better get some rest. Don't forget to set the alarm." she called over her shoulder as she went out the door.

Monica stood there in the middle of the room, feeling out of place. Painting always sent her to far off places, but this time, she didn't know where she had gone to – or if she'd yet come back.

Jaime came out, dressed and wearing a frown. "Shit, you look like hell."

Monica stared at her, her lips moving slowly. "I…"

Now Jaime looked closer at her. "Hey, um… you okay?"

When Monica stumbled forward, Jaime came and caught her. It was strange; Monica was like a feather weight, but Jaime felt nothing but concern as she hoisted her up and took her to her bedroom. All the ill feelings vanished in lieu of this moment as she lay her on her bed, on top of the comforter. She waited around to see if maybe she should call someone, but when Monica's head hit the pillow, she curled up instantly and fell asleep - just like a little child.

It was evening by the time Monica woke up again, and she felt revitalized. The roomies were seated at the kitchen table, Caryn sipping tea, Jaime drinking a beer. Both of them looked happy to see her.

"God, we were worried sick about you." Caryn gestured for Monica to sit with them.

"_She_ was worried." Jaime said, ever the tough guy. "And you overslept for work again."

"Oh no."

"I think your health is more important than that crappy job." Caryn made a face at Jaime. "And your friend Andrew called. He'll be over in a bit."

Monica looked surprised. "He will?"

Jaime got up and trudged to her room. "Yeah. Now you can have him kiss it and make it all better." the loud crash was the sound of her door slamming shut.

Monica looked confused as she whispered. "She hates me, doesn't she?"

Caryn shook her head. "Nah. The opposite. She likes you so much she can't even see straight."

"Oh." Monica smiled, her innocence clouding her reaction. "That's nice."

"I don't mean as a friend, Monica." Caryn tried to make her understand without being blunt. "You know Jaime likes… um… boys _and_ girls."

"Oh, well, that's a good thing, right? God made everyone, so…"

"You don't get it," Caryn patted Monica's shoulder as she headed towards the door, going to the club to meet friends, "but you will."

Caryn smiled and said 'hello' as she passed Andrew in the hall. "She's waiting for you."

He nodded and then knocked on the door. When Monica answered, they stared at each other for a long moment before she moved aside to let him enter. He couldn't get over how beautiful she was, even disheveled in an oversized shirt and sleep pants and with her hair so flyaway. She looked bohemian and somehow angelic at once. Her brown eyes glistened in the dim lighting.

"How are you?"

She smiled. "I'm fine." she looked at him, into his hazel eyes. She had painted him earlier and hadn't even realized it, but she wondered why she had imagined him as an angel. It was the oddest thing…

"You look well." he said, resisting the urge to push a long lock of her hair out of her face. He thought it might be the silkiest thing he ever felt, then he hated himself for thinking of her this way. It felt, somehow, wrong to have these private thoughts.

"No, I'm such a mess. I've been sleeping at odd times. Then I wake up with the strangest dreams. I don't understand it."

"Maybe there should be a club for us." he blurted it out. "For those of us with odd sleeping habits, I mean."

"You too?" her eyes were wide.

He nodded. "Anyway, I didn't want to barge in and then overstay my welcome. I just wanted to know if you wanted to go out again sometime. It doesn't have to be dinner. It can be anything."

"I like most things." she smiled at him, then felt her cheeks warm. "Or… I should say… I like going out with you."

His expression looked pleased. "Good. I have tickets to a show. A co-worker of mine had them and now he can't go, so I thought…"

"A show sounds like fun." Monica's eyes lit up with wonder. "What kind of show?"

"Well, have you ever heard of The Countess?" his words turned liquid in her ears as he said them, and even though Monica knew she never heard of The Countess besides the day she stumbled upon the old theatre, she was also quite certain that she _had_ heard of her. In fact, she would have bet her life on it.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thanks so much for all the feedback. It's a great pleasure to write and it makes me feel good to know you're all still enjoying it. :^)**_

Monica woke the next morning to the sound of Jaime and Caryn arguing. Through the walls, she could hear broken accusations and fragmented swear words clashing like titans.

She felt too weary to intervene, but it also felt wrong to do nothing. She took her time getting out of bed, prolonging it as long as possible. She went to her dresser and picked up her brush and began dragging it through her long hair, brushing away the tangles. She wondered what they could possibly be arguing about. For weeks, it had been pretty peaceful around the apartment, but Monica had also noted a bit of tension, as of late. Jaime was increasingly edgy and Caryn stayed out a lot more lately. Monica only knew when she was home by the sound of her singing coming through the bathroom walls.

Finally, she emerged from her bedroom and walked into the center of the conflict, a brave soldier, and was instantly attacked.

"Monica!" Jaime screamed, "I know you and Caryn are like a little clique, and I know she's been stealing my stuff! Admit it!"

Caryn made a face like someone in pain. "Jaime, leave Monica out of this. You just want a reason to blame her."

"Blame me?" Monica looked perplexed. "For what?"

"Just for being you," Caryn said, a note of suggestion in her voice.

"Just shut up!" Jaime shouted, her eyes like daggers of ice. "Both of you just shut up!"

"Why don't you say what's really on your mind?" Caryn glared at Jaime.

"I don't know what you're talking about…" Jaime dragged a hand through her disheveled blond mop.

"Tell her you love her."

"Caryn, I'm warning you…"

Monica chanced a look at Jaime. "Love…"

"Yes, Monica." Caryn glared at Monica, fed up with her innocence, at the end of her rope. "She loves you. _N_ot as a sister. She wants you. She wants you like a man wants a woman. You get it now?"

Jaime's face slowly began to fill with color as her eyes filled with water. "I fucking hate you, Caryn." she whispered it as she turned away from them and grabbed her coat off the hook near the door.

"Where you going?" Caryn asked, concerned.

"To buy a lock for my room – since you can't keep your hands off my things!" and she slammed the door on her way out leaving Monica stunned and Caryn regretful.

"I'm sorry, Monica." she said in a soft voice. "I am such a…"

"Is it true? What you said about Jaime?" Monica's face was warm as well, from embarrassment and worry and so many other emotions she couldn't exactly pinpoint.

Caryn nodded. "You saw how she reacted. She's had a crush on you for weeks."

"I don't understand… I mean…" Monica shrugged. "I don't know anything."

Caryn sat down at the kitchen table. "You know, I don't get it. Sometimes, its like you're not even from this planet, Monica. You're so clueless… or so innocent. And the way you're always so selfless and so helpful and caring. I never met anyone like you. It's like you're some kind of…"

Monica looked at her, her dark eyes expectant. "Like I'm some kind of…"

Caryn brushed the thought out of her head. "Nothing. Forget it." she pushed a few of her dreadlocks out of her face and forced herself to look Monica in the eye. "Anyway, as long as we're sharing, I should tell you the truth. I… I took Jaime's jewelry."

"Caryn, no…" Monica felt hurt by the admission.

"See, I needed to pay some loan sharks…"

"You mean, you're gambling again?"

Caryn shook her head. "No, it's not like that." She frowned. "Okay, I might have… put a few dollars down on a greyhound or two. Nothing big, though…"

"Caryn, you have to stop."

"I know, Monica. And I plan to get Jaime's stuff back. I thought she wouldn't miss a few little trinkets, but…"

"But they weren't yours to take." Monica sighed softly.

Caryn nodded. "And now you hate me."

Monica placed her warm hand over Caryn's and smiled. "I could never hate you. In fact, I think you're my only friend – and I'll help you however I need to."

Caryn nodded but looked embarrassed because she knew she had failed Monica, but she planned to make things right again.

Later, after both roommates were out of the house, Monica got ready and walked to work. She didn't know what to think about Jaime or Caryn right now. It felt like the two of them were turning the world upside down. Nothing was the way she understood it to be. Then again, maybe she was being insufferable because she didn't understand how it was supposed to be in the first place. According to Caryn, this was nothing strange, but it all felt so foreign to Monica.

At work, she tried to apologize to her edgy boss who was already at the end of his rope with her for having missed two days of work in a week. Then again, he couldn't stay angry at her for very long. He simply told her to try and be there for her shift or he'd have to give her job away to some else who actually needed it. Truthfully, he didn't want to fire her because he liked having her there. She was a calming spirit to have around and she was a talented artist, loved by all the customers and other employees alike. What she lacked in job performance, she more than made up for in disposition.

Near the end of her shift, she had gotten back into the swing of things and nearly didn't notice when a familiar face showed up and stood at her counter.

"Hello, angel face." he said in his pleasant voice, and Monica turned and smiled at him.

"Andrew." she caught his eye and pushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. "What brings you here?"

He shrugged. "Coffee, I guess. I hear its all the rage."

Monica tried to appear nonchalant. "It's a wee bit good, yes."

"Only a _wee_ bit?" he grinned at her. "Maybe I should try a cappuccino?"

"Alright." she said it in a soft voice. She felt warmth spreading from her face outward. His tone of voice did that to her, a sort of flirty, chivalry. Only Andrew could pull the two off at once.

He took a seat at a little table in the corner while she went and got his order. When she returned, he took the hot mug into his hands and looked up at her expectantly.

"Will you join me?"

She shook her head. "I can't, but I will be done in twenty minutes."

"I'll wait for you, then." he looked down at the foamy top of his beverage. "In the meantime, I'll figure out how to attack this."

Monica smirked at him. "It's not a dragon, Andrew. Just take a sip."

His hazel eyes glittered, but he obeyed, and when he did, he brought his face back up and smiled, the foam having formed a thin white mustache above his lip. Monica covered her mouth so he wouldn't see the small smile on her lips. She didn't want him to think she was having a laugh at his expense. The truth was, he was so charming, she couldn't help but be fond of him.

When she clocked out, the two of them walked outside together, her hands at her sides, his shoved in his jean pockets. The wind played in his blond hair, and she tried not to notice how lovely he always looked, how clean and how wholesome. She wondered what he did when he wasn't at work, what he did for fun.

"What do you like to do, Andrew?" she asked, tying her hair back with a white ribbon.

He shrugged. "I like to talk to you."

"Besides talking to me."

"I don't know. I like to read a lot. It's kind of strange, but I like to read biographies. I like reading about people's real lives, about how they lived and why they did the things they did. Sometimes, I feel like I knew them…"

Monica nodded, intrigued. "I'm looking forward to the concert."

"Me too." he looked down at the sidewalk as they walked. He liked to concentrate on the sound of her voice, the melody of it. Her accent was beautiful to him, but not only that - she just had such a pure, kind spirit; it made him want to be a better man.

"Do you know anything about The Countess?"

Andrew thought for a moment about what he had been told and about what he felt. He had heard of her, but like Monica, he was positive he should know more about this Countess. Something just drew him to her. "She sings a kind of nondescript jazz. It's very bluesy and old school." he considered it. "I think there may be elements of gospel as well. I'm not sure."

Monica nodded. "Do you know anything about her personally?" she didn't know why she was so desperate to know more about the Countess. It just seemed urgent, somehow.

Andrew said he didn't, but inside he felt that he did. He felt that he knew little details like that the Countess didn't drive often, but when she did, it was a large red Cadillac and that she was a formidable woman of faith and she didn't take any nonsense from anyone. He felt that he knew these things, but he didn't mention any of it to Monica for fear of sounding odd. Especially considering that he never even met the Countess. Instead, he mentioned something about having overheard that she was a big art collector, which was true actually because it was in one of her small bios.

As they walked together, the two found themselves venturing out through the park. It was dark here at night and mostly secluded except for the occasional young couple, hugged up on a park bench or snuggled under a tree. Monica averted her eyes as did Andrew. As attracted to each other as they were, they also were determined not to lose themselves to it. Monica felt so close to him that it made her want to resist all the more. Anything that felt this wonderful couldn't be right. She had learned that too many earthly pleasures were probably bad or would lead to trouble, so it came as a surprise when Andrew reached for her hand.

She stopped and looked at him. "Andrew, I…"

"I know what you're going to say." he interrupted. "And if you truly don't want to then… I understand. But keep in mind, Monica, that it's just a hand."

She laughed softly at herself for being so foolish. He was right, after all; it _was_ just a hand, and he only wanted to hold it, not elope with it.

He reached for it, slowly, thinking she might change her mind or run screaming into the night, as far away from him as possible. But she stood her ground. She let him take her hand, let his fingers link with hers. The sharp intake of breath she heard was her own.

"Are you alright?" he whispered and she nodded, not trusting herself with words. This new feeling was gritty, raw. Her heart thumped inside her chest, a mallet banging a drum. It was only a hand, so why did it feel so good?

Andrew, for his part, was doing well, considering he thought he might die if he had to let go of her, her tiny little hand that felt so right inside his own. He shivered, and she felt it, inquisitive brown eyes focusing on him.

"Are you cold?"

He shook his head, "No. Not anymore."

And they walked on in comfortable silence, each with their own private thoughts.

By the time the night began to close in on morning, Andrew started walking Monica back towards her apartment building, but she was hesitant. She didn't really want to go back to the turbulent climate brewing inside the apartment. She didn't want to go back and deal with Caryn's sad guilty brown eyes or the destructive force that was Jaime. The thought of facing them tonight was making her stomach turn knots. Andrew must have noticed her reluctance because he stopped and looked at her.

"What is it?"

She shook her head, unwilling to burden him with this. "Nothing."

He exhaled and looked into her face, so troubled and yet still so lovely, _always_ so lovely. "You know, Monica, when I'm having trouble dealing with things, I try to talk it over with a friend."

She made a face. "My troubles are _about_ my friends…well… roommates."

"Then, you should bring it to God." he studied her face for a reaction. They had never spoken about faith before, but it felt like neutral ground to him. Something about her seemed open to it.

"Well, I have prayed before, but I don't know if I _really_ know how to talk to God." she whispered. "What would I say?"

"You just say what's in your heart. Tell him what's on your mind. Ask him for advice." he looked down, feeling like he was maybe being preachy. "I do it all the time."

"You do?" when he nodded, she continued. "But you seem so well rounded, Andrew. I can't imagine you needing much advice about anything."

"Well, I need plenty of advice. Especially lately."

"Oh yeah?" her eyes were glittering with mischief and curiosity. "Tell me."

He shook his head, the tips of his ears warming. "No. I shouldn't."

"I won't tell anyone." she tugged his sleeve, prodding him. "C'mon, Andrew."

"Okay then," he paused, his throat tightening with caution, "it about you."

She looked at him, curious. "What about me?"

He shrugged, terrified to say anymore, afraid of pushing her away but desperate to tell her how he felt. "It's just that… I think… I may be falling in love with you…"


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thanks so much to everyone who continues to read my fic. Hopefully this chapter holds your attention. It's a bit drawn out, but I really wanted to take my time. **_

Chap 5

Monica looked into his attractive face, at a loss for words. "Andrew… I… don't know what to say."

"Well," he whispered, "Now you know."

"And I wonder if it will change things..." she mused out loud even though she knew in her heart that it already had.

It was very late when he dropped her off at home, neither of them having said much after his big confession. He was positive he had ruined everything with her and so he went home, kicked off his boots and fell into bed without even calling off from his job. In the back of his mind, he wondered, darkly, if anyone would die tonight because of his negligence, but somehow that seemed oddly appropriate.

There was a part of him that felt let down by this careless behavior – but what were humans if not flawed? And anyway, he felt as if his heart was breaking.

By the time he fell off into a restless slumber, his dreams were plagued with the strangest notions. He was dressed all in white, which was odd because he didn't even own anything white, and Monica was there as well, glowing as if lit up from within. She was so bright that he could barely stand to look at her, but she was so beautiful that he couldn't turn away, and the urge to kiss her was almost overwhelming. But the Countess appeared out of nowhere and told him that he couldn't kiss Monica because she was his sister!

The idea alone was enough to jerk him out of his sleep, so hard that he gave himself a slight headache. Instead of dwelling on it, though, he got up and got dressed for work, his hands still shaking. He was more than an hour late, but at least he'd still make it.

Meanwhile, miles away, Monica sat up, Indian style on her bed and watched the array of emotions that crossed her roommate's flushed features. Jaime stood near the threshold, her back against the door as she fumbled her way through a weak explanation.

"Yeah, don't believe anything Caryn says about me. It's all lies."

"Oh?" Monica tried to wrap her mind around that possibility. Perhaps Caryn really _had_ lied, but why?

"Oh sure! Caryn lies all the time – especially about me. I didn't want you thinking I'm some kind of…" Jaime hesitated. She didn't really know where she was going with this.

"We can talk about it if you'd like." Monica interjected.

"Oh. No. It's fine." Jaime put on a brave front. "Anyway, you're not my type."

"I suppose that's a good thing." Monica smiled good naturedly.

"Oh definitely." Jaime, waved a nonchalant hand. "I never go for artists or red heads or… Irish accents."

"What a coincidence."

"I know, right?" Jaime smirked, wiping a bit of perspiration off her brow. "Anyway, yeah. Don't believe what Caryn says. It's all lies."

Monica stood up and went to Jaime. Something Andrew had told her was still fresh on her mind, well, actually _most_ of what Andrew had said was on her mind, but at least some of that she could share with a friend. "If you ever feel alone and need someone to talk to, then you should talk to God."

Jaime looked into Monica's cocoa colored eyes and quickly looked away. "I don't believe in God, Monica."

"It's not too late to start believing in him."

Jaime rolled her eyes. "And what good could it do?"

"I think…" Monica pondered out loud, "…that it could do a lot of good."

Jaime shook her head, eyes misting. "But will it take away the pain?"

Now Monica didn't have an answer. She'd never had issues so big that they couldn't be solved with a hot cup of coffee or a few strokes of a paintbrush. Most of her issues were small in comparison to Jaime's, but lately… she wasn't sure. The latest realization with Andrew could prove to be a big new change in her life – good or bad.

"Right." Jaime said, answering her own question. "Just as I thought. You don't even have an answer." And she sauntered off down the hall to her own room, shutting the door behind her.

Monica stared after her and felt terrible because she hadn't had an answer. She honestly didn't know what God was capable of. She didn't know what he could do for Jaime or how he would heal her. She felt that he could, but she didn't know how to express it in words. And then her mind began to wander back to Andrew. The concert was coming up at the end of this week, and she didn't even know what she would say to him when she saw him again. In those private little moments, when she let herself _truly_ feel, she had to admit that his words excited her, made her feel alive, made her feel like a woman. But something about that felt wrong.

Two days later, Caryn took Monica dress shopping.

"You have to look gorgeous – not that it'll be hard for you." Caryn made a face at Monica. "You're ninety-nine point nine percent of the way there already. I think you should go with red or burgundy. Something to bring out your lips."

Monica blushed. "It doesn't have to be red, does it?"

Ignoring her shy roommate, Caryn slipped through the dress racks, looking for something in Monica's size. This was a high-end department store, and she didn't want to spare any expense. Monica deserved it, after all. And she deserved to be happy with Andrew – even if Monica herself didn't understand it yet.

As it turned out, Monica tried on eight different dresses, all in varying shades of red until finally, at Monica's request, she tried on something in a cream color, and they made their decision because it made her look so ethereal and otherworldly, Caryn's breath was taken away.

"Whatever you do, don't let Jaime see you in that dress." Caryn murmured as they ate lunch in a little bistro later. "She might have a coronary."

"I wonder what Andrew will think." Monica said in a small voice.

Caryn snorted. "Um, you mean after he picks his jaw up from the floor?"

Monica smiled, a shy little smile. "He told me… he said he may be falling in love with me."

"Of course he is." Caryn dipped a breadstick into her soup before taking a bite. "It's so obvious, Monica. You're the last one to know."

"Am I?" Monica took a sip of her water with lemon.

"Has he kissed you yet?"

Now Monica was coughing, having nearly swallowed said lemon. "What?…"

"Has he tried to kiss you?"

Monica shook her head, dabbing a napkin at her mouth. "Of course he hasn't."

Caryn rolled her eyes and told Monica that she was, as usual, a big old prude, that most people would have kissed after the first date and by this time would be planning to move in together or in some cases, picking out baby names, which of course made Monica nearly choke again.

Then Caryn told Monica maybe she should consider cozying up to him because the future looked bleak for Jaime and she didn't know what she was planning to do with herself. It would be nice to have Andrew to depend on.

"But I don't want to depend on him." Monica said quietly. "At least… not yet."

"What's stopping you?" Caryn seriously wanted to know. She looked deep into Monica's eyes, and she saw so much uncertainty that it saddened her. "What's holding you back from taking the plunge with him, Monica? He's the best thing that's come along in forever. It's like God dropped him right on your doorstep just for you. He didn't give him to Jaime or me, God forbid. He gave him to you, specifically. So, what's holding you back?"

Now Monica's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know." She whispered, and she truly _didn't_ know what it was that was keeping her from loving Andrew whole-heartedly. Deep down, she wanted nothing more than to be with him, but it seemed like there was a barrier in the way. Any normal woman would have killed for a man like him, would be planning an engagement party already and house hunting and all the rest, but Monica felt different. She wasn't driven by any of it, not the way she should be.

Later, after she and Caryn came home, and Caryn went back out again, Monica prepared herself for work. Her beautiful dress hung in the closet and she kept looking at it as she combed her hair and knotted it into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wondered what Andrew was doing right now, if he was thinking of her as she was thinking of him, if he could still feel her warm fingers entwined with his as she could feel it.

At work, she went by in a daze, counting down the time until the concert, which was coming up the very next night. She hadn't thought much about the Countess, but she was pulled taught as a bowstring in preparation to see her. It was as if she'd been waiting an eternity to hear her sing, and she was more than ready for it.

That night, when she got off work, she slipped into the apartment, so as not to disturb her roommates and lay her head down without even changing out of her work clothes. She felt exhausted tonight, more so than usual. And her dreams were colorful and filled with song.

She was standing near the stage, and the Countess was belting out music that seemed too pure for human ears. It was God's choir with the Countess at the lead, and the melodies were so harmonious that Monica's eyes overflowed with tears of emotion. Beside her, Andrew was as caught up as she was. Not only was the Countess strikingly beautiful, but also her voice was like a warm quilt woven with bullion.

Monica woke up shivering and cold. Her dreams took her places that seemed so peaceful and heavenly only to wrench her out of them, back down to earth where things were cold and harsh and confusing. She felt like she was just born, forced from the soft, protective womb and into the world where she was alone again.

That night, Monica dressed in her room, her pale naked body shivering until she pulled on the silky soft under things Caryn had persuaded her to pick up in the lingerie department – _'just in case things get hot and heavy with Andrew later'_, she'd said. But of course, Monica wasn't planning for anything like that.

The slip of a dress slid down over her thin frame easily as she smoothed it down in the front, resting her hands on her narrow hips. She didn't know what to think of herself. She thought she looked pretty, but she wondered what Andrew would think. She also wondered what The Countess would think even though, odds were, she wouldn't even get to meet her face-to-face.

She fiddled around a bit with her hair, wondering if she should pull it back or leave it down or twist it into a knot or curl it or leave it naturally wavy. In the end, she decided to curl it and let it drape down her back, tendrils falling past her temples.

The apartment was quiet since Caryn had gone to visit her parents that day, and Jaime was nowhere to be seen, but then she heard a voice behind her as she reached for the door.

"You look nice." Jaime's words were slurred.

"Thank you." Monica said, trying to see her in the shadows.

"He's a lucky guy, this Andrew."

Monica paused before replying. "That's very kind of you to say."

"Well, have fun." Jaime's voice was full of irony. "I know _I_ will."

"Alright." Monica wasn't sure what else to say, but she felt that she needed to say something. "Goodnight."

Outside, Andrew's truck was parked next to the curb. They had promised to meet at six-thirty, but he was almost convinced that she wouldn't want to meet him after their last outing. He was sure he had said too much, but he couldn't take it back now. He only hoped maybe she had forgotten.

When she came out of the building, he felt his heart flutter at the sight of her. In an off-white dress that hugged her slim body but flowed like rippling water around her, he would have sworn he was looking at an angel. Her hair was immaculate, fluid russet rivers, overcast with her natural red highlights. He got out to meet her and felt that his breath had been ripped from his lungs as she approached the car.

"Hello." she said in her silky voice, and he had to avert his eyes.

"Hello." he went to open the door for her. "You look… beautiful."

"Thank you." She smiled at him. "So do you." And he did, in his pale gray turtleneck and dark blazer to mach his slacks. His blond hair had gotten longer in the few weeks she had known him, and he had it pulled back into a little ponytail that gave him a charming look. When they were both seated, she surprised herself by reaching across and touching his hand.

"I missed you, Andrew." she couldn't look at him as the words flowed forward. She didn't even know where they came from or for how long they had been bottled up, but she couldn't rein them in. "I've been looking forward to tonight ever since you invited me. But also, I've been looking forward to… just being with you."

Andrew, for his part, was stunned. Monica had never expressed any interest in him outside the realm of friendship. Now, however, she seemed to genuinely like him. Her words ignited something inside him that felt so wrong, but so terribly right. He couldn't ignore his basic human instincts any longer.

"I can't tell you how glad I feel right now." he said, his voice almost inaudible.

"You can't?"

"No." he shook his head, "But I can show you." and he leaned over, slowly, giving her every opportunity to protest, his hand leisurely reaching to push a long dark tendril of hair away from her face, his fingertips brushing the soft skin of her cheek. She shivered and wondered what to do, panicking internally, but staying still otherwise, the anticipation of what he was about to do making her freeze in time. His mouth was so close to hers right now that she could almost taste him, like fear and mint tea. He thought about his dream and about the Countess' words and pushed them away. It was impossible for Monica to be his sister, even metaphorically. He loved her too much, and he suspected that she loved him.

Monica's hand held Andrew's wrist, not pushing him away, but rather anchoring herself as his lips brushed hers for the first time. The ground seemed to move beneath them as he held on, parting his mouth a bit to get a taste of her in case he never got this opportunity again. Monica's eyes slipped shut as she got lost in the euphoria of it. She never thought it could be like this. She never even wanted as much, but now she felt she could spend an eternity this way, locked into a kiss with Andrew.

When they came up for air, it was only a fraction of an inch between their lips, before taking the plunge again. This time, Monica took the helm, kissing him gently, her breath catching in her throat as his hand came up to touch her bare shoulder, his fingers moving up to lightly caress her slender neck.

And then Monica pulled back, breaking the kiss. She was warm all over and terrified of what they had just done, but more than that, she had started to feel that they were drowning in it. This passion was too overwhelming. "We should go," she breathed, and Andrew exhaled and slid back over into the driver's seat, sliding the key in the lock and starting it up. His hands were shaking as he clutched the steering wheel and pulled away from the curb.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for all who continue to read and review. It fuels me, really! Also, this chapter was painstaking to write, but it's finally done. Now I can move on. **

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Chapter 6

Hand in hand, Andrew and Monica walked towards the theatre. It was lit up and overflowing with people. There were many well-dressed couples and groups of three or four milling about. In the expansive lobby, covered with lush red carpet, there were men in tuxedos selling champagne and liquors and non-alcoholic beverages.

They took in the decorative etchings on the walls and nodded a friendly hello in passing to other ticket holders. Andrew let a protective hand hover just near the small of her back as he guided her to their seats up near the front of the auditorium.

Monica was so excited as they seated themselves and waited as the orchestra tuned their instruments. She turned to look at Andrew and smiled, feeling a small rush of warmth at the memory of their kiss in the car. He'd been so gentle and yet so intense that it was almost too much. As she looked into his pleasant face right now, it was almost impossible to believe him capable of so much passion.

"I'm so excited, Andrew." She said over the murmur of the crowd. "Do you think she'll be able to see us?"

Andrew nodded. "I think so. We're close enough, after all." And they _were_ rather close. Two rows back from the orchestra pit.

In another moment, the lights flickered to call all those in attendance to their seats. Monica watched the stage, the place where the heavy red curtain flowed from the ceiling to the floor. In another several seconds, the Countess would be standing there, in all her glory. Monica was beside herself with anticipation. Andrew, as well, seemed transfixed on the stage. And then, the music began…

The roar of applause nearly drowned out the orchestra as the curtain raised to reveal her, draped in a diamond bejeweled gown and glittering under the spotlight, her smile was nearly as bright. Her hair, platinum on top and jet underneath was curled elaborately and spilling down over her shoulder in elegant waves. Monica and Andrew were too caught up to even join in the applause. The feeling of recognition was overpowering. Monica's breath was taken away.

And then she began to sing, and the roar of applause died down immediately, no one wanting to miss even one note of her husky satin voice.

Also on stage was a pianist accompanying her, his fingers moving over the keys and coming together with her voice to make incredible sounds like pure heaven. But the Countess herself had a voice like Georgia molasses, heavy and sweet and soulful.

Andrew's brow was furrowed as he listened intently, his eyes fixed on the stage. He was two inches away from being swept off into the fabric of her words and the tone. When she sang, it was like she was singing directly to him and it seemed like a prayer. He felt like testifying, but he also felt that the music was meant for him. It confused him while it also intrigued him.

Monica, for her part, was sure she was going insane. Her eyes were filling with tears as the Countess moved her with song - but to make matters worse, it was as if she'd heard the words before. In fact, they felt so familiar to her; she thought she could almost sing along.

After the first song, the crowd erupted again with ovation, and the Countess smiled and waved, modestly trying to quiet them down. Until now, she hadn't actually addressed the audience, but now she did.

"Thank you so much, everyone. What a beautiful crowd." Her speaking voice was as rich as her singing voice. "I'm so blessed to be here tonight – and I'm blessed to have all of you." There was more applause. "Now, now, enough of that. I can't take _all_ of the credit." There was some laughter in the audience.

"As a promotion we're doing tonight only, my last night in this lovely town, two audience members have been selected to come backstage and chat with me this evening, and I wish I could have you all, but… well, I can only pick two."

Monica and Andrew glanced at each other as they both wondered the same thing.

"Now, I'm going to call two numbers and you just look on the back of your tickets to see if you have that number and then raise your hand and someone will come down after the concert and bring you up to my dressing room…" The Countess patted her hair, "…although I would call it more of a drawing room."

There was more laughter, and then the Countess waited for complete silence, drawing out the suspense before calling two numbers. There was some murmuring in the audience as everyone checked their tickets, and then Monica glanced at Andrew. He reached into his pocket and pulled out their tickets. Monica watched him the entire time as he read off the same numbers the Countess had called. Monica knew, in her heart, that it would be them. It was fate.

During the rest of the concert, Monica could hardly relax. She was beside herself with excitement. She didn't know if she could meet the Countess. What if she thought Monica was a crazy person? What if she wasn't actually as soulful as she seemed? What if it all turned out badly? The suspense was killing her.

At the end of the final set, the Countess did a bow as the crowd cheered her on. "Thank you so much. You've been a wonderful crowd." Her voice was nearly drowned out by the applause. "Now, will our ticket holders please raise their hands so that my assistant can escort you back. And to everyone else, it's been a beautiful time. Thank you so much." And she disappeared behind the red curtain without looking in their direction.

Monica and Andrew raised their hands as the rest of the crowd filed out of the auditorium. Eventually, a man in a suit coat and vest came over to them and greeted them.

"Hi, I'm the assistant to the Countess." His voice was chipper. " May I see you tickets?"

After Andrew showed them the stubs, the man led them through a door and down a long narrow hallway that was dark and quiet except for the sound of his chattering away about the history of the theatre. In the dark, Andrew held Monica's hand as they followed the assistant and let his words lead them.

Finally, they got to the end of the hall and stopped in front of a door with her name on it inside a gold star, just like those old television shows Monica had seen late at night. The assistant cleared his throat and addressed the couple.

"Before you actually meet the Countess, I first have to lay down the ground rules." Monica and Andrew exchanged glances. "You are not to have any physical contact with the Countess, whatsoever. She doesn't like to be looked in the eye or directly questioned about personal issues. You can, however, talk about her music, ask her anything about the tour. She doesn't mind. Also, she likes art. Feel free to ask her who her favorite artists are. She likes that. Also, she likes praise, but not too much. Compliment her, but don't overdo it. Got it?"

Andrew wasn't sure how to respond. "I think so."

"Good. You have five minutes." He said, and then knocked on the door.

"Just a minute." The Countess' voice called through the door, and Monica found it hard to believe that all those rules applied to her; still, she wasn't up for putting it to the test. And in that moment, Andrew let go of Monica's hand. It seemed the thing to do. Somehow, he thought he might feel ashamed if the Countess thought they were a romantic couple.

Monica looked at the door and then it opened, and the Countess greeted them. "Well, hello beautiful people. Come in. Please." She was even more striking in person, and such a powerful presence. Monica could feel it, somehow.

"Hello, Countess. I'm Andrew." Andrew moved to extend his hand, but stopped when he remembered the assistant's words. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Yes," Monica spoke in a small shy voice. "I'm Monica. We've…well, _I've_ been looking forward to meeting you."

"What a sweet little angel." The Countess said absently. "And I like that accent. Ireland, right?" Monica nodded and glanced at Andrew.

Honestly, the Countess was starting to feel a little uneasy with these new strangers. There was some powerful force at work here, and she was feeling it stronger now that they had arrived. Before, she didn't like to be touched or looked at by certain people because she had encountered some bad ones in her line of work, some strange broken individuals, but these two… well… they were different. She wanted to take them both into her arms, but somehow that didn't seem right either…

"So, um, Countess…" Andrew started, but the Countess cut him off.

"My _real_ name is Tess, baby." She said, casually.

"Oh." And Andrew felt that familiar sensation again. He _knew_ that name.

"What a lovely name." Monica said, "to go with the lovely voice." her eyes sparkling as she looked at the other woman, gazed at her. She wanted to hug her, but she knew it was against 'the rules'.

"Thank you." And Tess smiled in her direction. She wanted to say something more but couldn't find the words.

"Your assistant said you liked art." Andrew glanced around now at the pictures on the walls, abstract and oil paintings and some impressionist works. "And you have good taste, by the looks of it."

"Oh yes, well, I do love my art. I bring most of my paintings with me when I'm on tour." She said, her eyes lighting up at the mention of them. "I'm always looking for new ones to add to my collection."

Andrew nudged Monica gently. "I just so happen to know a good artist." And Monica blushed furiously.

"No, Tess, what Andrew means is that…"

"You're an artist?" Tess beamed at Monica, and the little red head seemed to shrink under the scrutiny.

"No. I mean, I like to dabble a wee bit, but… I'm not actually…"

"Of course she is." Andrew said. "She's the finest local artist I've seen. Some of her works are even hanging in a local coffee shop."

Now Monica threw him a look. She didn't want Tess to see her paintings. She could never live up to her standards. But here they all were, exchanging phone numbers, Andrew giving her the address of the coffee shop. By the time they bid her farewell, Monica could barely look at Andrew, let alone speak.

But in the privacy of the dark hallway backstage, he tugged her to him and kissed her mouth, tenderly. The only noise was the soft sound she made at the back of her throat as she reached up instinctively and held onto his head, her fingers absently pulling his ponytail free of its tie. Andrew held her against him as they made contact with the wall and he deepened the kiss, feeling Monica's body molding against his. His hair had fallen around his face and Monica let her fingers drive through the soft silky wheat-colored locks before breaking away from him wordlessly.

When they got outside into the chilly night, he draped his blazer over her pale shoulders and held her in front of him, his mouth still throbbing.

"You're angry." He said, his smile slight. "I can tell."

"It's not funny." She still wouldn't look at him even though she tingled with the very recent memory of his mouth on hers. "Now, what am I going to do?"

"What do you mean?" he was perplexed. "You're going to show Tess some of your paintings. I've seen them. They're amazing."

"She's not going to like them, Andrew." Monica murmured, "She's going to laugh at me."

"She's not like that." He affirmed in such a sure voice that it was like he knew her. "I promise you."

She shook her head. "You don't know that for sure."

Now, he placed a finger underneath her delicate chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Look at me Monica." And when she did, she nearly melted; his eyes were so deep, like pools of rainwater. "I know."

His words sent a shiver up her spine because they meant so many things to her. What did he know? Did he know why she felt the way she did? Did he know why she felt displaced most of the time, like she was from outer space? Or maybe he knew Tess from before. Maybe that was why they seemed to get along so well. Maybe Andrew was right about her. Maybe she wouldn't laugh at her after all. Maybe everything would be okay.

Finally, Monica gave him a small smile and nodded that she trusted him and they got into his truck, not speaking of the kiss. As they were heading towards her building, though, Monica decided that she didn't want to go back. It was becoming increasingly difficult to go back home these days, but tonight seemed especially difficult. She wondered if Caryn was back from visiting her parents, and she didn't know if she wanted to be alone with Jaime. She wasn't sure what she would say to her if she were.

"Andrew," Monica exhaled, finding it hard to put into words. "Please, don't take this the wrong way, but… I don't want to go home."

He stared forward, feeling a tug in his lower belly. He knew she didn't mean anything by it, but it still stirred thoughts inside him that were driven purely by the body. He couldn't miss the fact that she was beautiful and sexy – in an ethereal way. Also, he was starting to get used to kissing her. Having her in his arms felt like home. "Where would you like to go?" he tried to remain as neutral as possible, waiting with bated breath.

She hesitated only a moment, and then her words tumbled forth. "If I could go with you, I promise I won't be any trouble. I'll sleep on the couch… or on the floor."

Andrew was shocked and elated at the same time. The thought of having her in his apartment, but also the thought of not having to say goodbye to her tonight filled him up with gladness.

"Of course you can stay with me. And no," he glanced at her as he drove, "You won't have to sleep on the floor."

She seemed relieved at any rate. "You won't even know I'm there." She promised.

But when they got to his small apartment, it was like they fell into a familiar rhythm, joking together and laughing and finishing each other's sentences. Andrew offered her some leftover Chinese from his fridge and she made a pretty spectacular pot of coffee from some he'd had left over in a can in his cupboard.

Later, he made up the couch for himself and told her she could have the bed, but neither of them was ready for sleep. Instead, they sat up together, talking.

"Andrew, I really enjoyed Tess," she looked at him. "I feel like I know her."

"Me too." he agreed. "I don't know why; I just do."

"What do you think it means?"

Andrew shrugged. "I dunno. Deja vu, maybe?" there was a pause, and then he looked at her. "I'm sorry I kissed you in the theatre. I got a little ahead of myself."

Monica grinned at him. "It's a wonder I trust you at all."

He shrugged, feeling sheepish. "I'm _glad_ you trust me. It's so difficult to be around you sometimes. I feel like we've talked long ago, in another time. And then I look at you…" he pushed a long curled lock of her hair away from her face. "…and I feel sure that I knew you."

Monica didn't even need to say she felt the same way because he already knew she did, but now she was thinking of someone else. "Andrew, do you think my roommates will be okay without me?"

He smirked a little in her direction. "Most likely. They've been without you before, right?"

Monica nodded, but she wasn't sure, and as they sat there on the couch together, drifting into a comfortable silence, she felt a strange sensation that all was not well back at her apartment.

Andrew felt it even stronger. It came out of nowhere, the way it did when he worked as an EMT. He always got a strong sense of it hovering in the vicinity, like death in search of a victim. He knew he was powerless to it, but he also felt somehow responsible.

Monica eventually slipped into a deep slumber, her body finally unable to resist its natural urge. Andrew lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed where he lay her down and covered her with a quilt, laying a gentle kiss on her forehead. And then he pulled his shoes back on and went out into the night because if death was nearby, he needed to meet it halfway. It was the least he could do.


	7. Chapter 7

**Well, TbaA fans, its been a while - and its been a lovely holiday. Hope the same for all of you. It has taken a while to update (longer than I usually like), but ch7 is here at last. *phew* Thanks for being patient with me, and I hope you enjoy. **

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In the dead of night, Andrew made his way to Monica's shabby neighborhood, seemingly at the end of morality. It was so still at this hour that the vermin in the sewers had long since retired – and Andrew was running on pure instinct.

Something was driving him forward and now, that same something brought him to an absolute stop. A man stood in his direct path, dressed in a white suit, his light brown hair made paler by the glow from the street lamp – except (Andrew noted in retrospect) there were no street lamps here.

The man regarded Andrew and then broke into a wide grin.

"Well," he finally said, shoving his hands into his pockets, "Humanity really suits you."

Andrew was still perplexed by the light radiating off the other man. "Who…"

"I'm Adam, and I don't have much time, but let me just say this…" he paused, genuine concern etched into the ageless planes of his face. "…you're going to do fine. All of you. Just… hang in there. And trust in Him."

Andrew shook his head, slowly. "I don't understand…"

"You will." Adam nodded and approached and even though Andrew was afraid, he stood his ground.

There was a strange warmth coming off Adam as he got close and Andrew found that it made him well up with emotion. He turned his face away so Adam wouldn't see his eyes filling up.

"Just remember, you serve a bigger purpose than this." He waited, smirking, "So stop brooding so much. It's not you."

Andrew shut his eyes. He knew he must be going crazy, seeing apparitions here in the dark alley, and when he turned his head Adam was gone. He knew he must've dreamed it up.

He proceeded towards Monica's building and took the stairs two at a time. The door was already ajar, but the sound coming from inside was the sound of death stealing life, quiet and futile. It was in that moment that he knew who Adam was. The walls felt dry and brittle as he felt his way in the dark towards the girl who lay motionless in a pool of her own blood. Her pale blond hair was even red with it as Andrew cradled her head.

"Please, God…" he began, but the rest wouldn't come. He didn't know what to say, and then a voice came out of nowhere, calm and low.

"It's over now." Adam said, "At least the worst of it is."

"You're death." Andrew said in a shaking voice. "I'm sure of it now."

"Yes. Well, it takes one to know one." He grinned, but Andrew didn't get the joke. Instead, he sobered his face. "Let her know that Jaime loved her. She would have wanted her to know that, I think."

Andrew stared at Adam; the same thing that frightened him about death also calmed him. He was a myriad of contradictions, smug and funny but also loving and concerned. Andrew would have wanted someone like him for a brother or even a colleague, and he had that strange feeling again, like he knew him from a former life. Lately, though, it was best to just ignore that sensation because it was delusional thinking.

"How?" Andrew dragged a hand over the girl's hair, smoothing it. She was still warm with the residual essence of life. It had not long left her body and Andrew wished he could will it back into her, somehow summon it back. This would undo Monica, he knew.

Adam wondered how to put it. He wondered how much Andrew knew about life, if he knew how ugly it could be, how unpleasant and how raw. The Father had made sure not to put the angels in direct harm, but then again, living itself could be very hard – especially when not having experienced it for very long, even with implanted false memories or nonexistent ones. It wasn't written on an angel's DNA about how to be human. For that matter, angels didn't even have DNA.

"It was suicide." Adam said, thinking that if he were a smoker, he'd have lit one up right now, anything to take the focus off Andrew's sad, wide-open face. He was so much like a child that it disconcerted Adam. Especially in this state. All humans were children, in a sense. Now Andrew was so human right now that it killed Adam, hurt to look at him. He was used to seeing so much wise knowledge behind those hazel eyes, the knowledge of several hundred years at the right hand of God. Now, it was as if he were naked.

"Anyway, I have to go." Adam cleared his throat and started for the door. He didn't know if Andrew would take seeing him vanish into thin air. He had enough to deal with as it was. "You can call 911 or… whatever you would normally do in a situation like this."

In that instant, Andrew remembered his EMT training, but of course, it was too late. Oblivious to Adam's departure, Andrew laid the body flat and bent over her and began, in vain, CPR. His hands shook as he checked her pulse and came up with nothing time and time again until the first rays of sunlight shown through the window.

The soft sound behind him was startling at first, but he'd suspected she would come eventually.

"No." the voice said when she got in full view. Monica, looking pale and disheveled must've walked here from across town or caught a bus. Right now, though, her eyes were almost empty except for her brows furrowed in pain. "No." she said again before kneeling down, or rather sinking to the floor.

She moved Andrew absently out of the way and cradled Jaime in her arms. "She loved me." Monica said in a quiet voice, "But I didn't have time for her, couldn't be bothered."

Andrew found his voice. "She was troubled, Monica. It…w-wasn't your fault."

Her brown eyes focused down on the pale round face in her arms, the slits of blue staring up from behind motionless lids, frosted lashes, so pale they were almost invisible, that nose ring glinting in her right nostril. "I didn't help her."

"You _couldn't_ help her." Andrew's voice was stronger now. He was sitting up, facing her. "There was nothing you could do."

"She needed my help." Monica was shaking all over. "I didn't do anything."

"What could you do?" he reached for her and tried to steady her, but she flinched when he did it.

"I could have loved her, but… I was afraid…"

Andrew shook his head. "Monica…"

"She asked me about God." Monica's voice broke. "I could've done so much."

"Monica…"

"I left her alone, Andrew." Now, she laid Jaime's cold head against the carpet and stood. "I left her alone." She turned and ran from the apartment, Andrew calling after her.

When he saw that it was no use, that Monica wasn't going to come back, he stood, in a numb trance and dialed 911. He told them who he was and how he had found Jaime's body, and then he waited for them to come and take her. How she'd had the will power to slice her own throat was baffling, but under the influence of all the drugs in her system, anything was possible.

Andrew went about the rest of his day in a slump. He felt that he had lost Monica. He had no way to call her, and he hoped against hope that she would go to work so that he could meet her and talk to her, (although she often didn't show up there even in the best of times) but when she didn't this time, he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Where could she have gone?

In the park, Monica walked the edge of the duck pond and stared into the dark water, fish swimming to the surface and kissing it, greeting her. It was all so blurry to her because her eyes were perpetually filled with water. Her head felt heavy on her shoulders and she just wanted to forget what she had seen, the lifeless body, the bloodstained hair, the slits of blue that had once been eyes. Jaime had told Monica what a lucky man Andrew was, but Monica had brushed it away like nothing. She couldn't understand the mysteries of life, couldn't help a friend and so she had lost her. Death had claimed her, and Andrew had been there, trying to deflect a brunt of the guilt away from Monica, but she wasn't interested in being guiltless. She wanted to take the blame. After all, it was _her_ guilt, and she deserved it.

The theatre was close, and Monica's weary legs carried her there of their own free will. She was drawn there, to what she knew was comfort, to what she knew was salvation. She pictured, in her mind's eyes, rejection, a slap in the face, pain. That was something she had never actually felt before, real pain, real hurt. The ache in her heart now was different from that. It was that inevitable thing that all humans felt at some point or another, the loss of a loved one, the loneliness of darkness, the fear of dying.

She banged on the door that read 'Backstage' and waited. If anyone answered at all, she'd be surprised, but she waited, still. Besides, what else did she have to do? Caryn was away someplace, reconciling with her family or perhaps gambling away the last remaining fragments of her belongings, Jaime was dead, and Andrew was…

Monica swallowed hard and rapped again on the door. No one would come; she was prepared for that. And in that event, she would continue walking, through the park, to the edge of town, to the edge of the world, if she had to – but then someone opened the door, poking out his balding head. The stage manager.

"Can I help you?"

"Y-yes… is… The Countess still here?"

The little man looked her up and down. "She might be. Who are you?"

"Please, I need to speak with her. I… I need her help."

"That's a laugh. You think I'm just going to open this door and let some stranger inside? The Countess is a huge star, and you're…"

"Who is it, baby?" Tess' voice rang out behind him and Monica felt her knees weaken at the familiar sound, more familiar than it should have been. Of course, it was a very real possibility that Tess would throw her out, not want to see her at all. Then, Monica thought she might curl into a ball and die. But Tess opened the door wide and looked at Monica with those warm dark eyes, a sassy smile on her lips.

"Monica?"

Monica nodded, her eyes overflowing, her whole body shaking. "Yes, it's me." And then she threw her arms around the older woman and cried in earnest and to her great surprise, Tess held on, rocking her gently and smoothing her hair with her heavy soothing hands.

The rest of the night went by like liquid, beneath a warm amber light. Monica found herself sipping coffee on a settee, listening to the sound of Tess singing an uplifting melody about the eye of a sparrow and braiding Monica's hair into one long braid.

"My roommate died because I wanted to be loved."

"That doesn't sound right." Tess said, seating herself next to Monica. "Maybe she died because she didn't love herself."

Monica stared down into the murky liquid steaming itself. "I was selfish. And now Andrew…"

"He seems like a fine young man." Tess interrupted, smiling good-naturedly. "I like him – and I can tell you like him too."

"Yes, but he doesn't understand. I need to feel useful, and right now, I'm not useful." Monica began to cry again. "Right now, I'm nothing."

Tess reached out and placed a hand over Monica's. "Now, baby, don't say that. There ain't no way you could be _nothing_ because God don't make _nothing_. Everything he makes is something." She reached out and gently lifted Monica's chin. "And you're a special something. I can tell. I have an eye for this sort of thing – just like art work."

Monica shook her head. "Maybe you're wrong about me." Her voice was a whisper. "Maybe I slipped through the wee cracks."

Tess laughed and held onto one of those knowing smiles. It was such a wise look that Monica felt taken aback. "Oh, I know a thing or two about God, and he don't let nothing slip through the cracks. He notices all of his creations."

Monica wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I don't know much about Him." She sniffled.

And Tess took this as her opening, a great opportunity to introduce Monica to the Alpha, the Omega. "Oh, well, let me just enlighten you, angel…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, TbaA fans! Thanks for waiting patiently for me to crank out chap eight - and I've never written a fanfic this long before. (it's a little scary) :^) At any rate, thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy this chap. **

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Monica stayed with Tess for the duration of her time at the theatre, and when her concert tour was over, she moved into a posh hotel with her. It felt safe being near her, and it also felt safe not dealing with the world outside. It had only been a week since the night she'd discovered Jaime.

When it was the right time, Monica went back to the apartment to collect some of her things and tried not to think of the emptiness left by Jaime's death. When she passed the bedroom, she heard a soft sound coming from within and chanced a look inside. It was Caryn, seated on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Caryn?" Monica went to her and hugged her. "How long…"

Caryn shook her head, her eyes mournful but dry. "I've been here for a while." She looked into Monica's deep brown eyes. "I took her things, and I was going to return them… and then I heard what happened…"

Monica tried to be strong, but it was difficult. "It's alright, Caryn. She's in a better place. I'm sure of it."

"I don't think I can take this." Caryn exhaled. "Anyway, I'll be moving out of here in a day or so. I can't swing the rent alone and my parents said I can come stay with them, so…"

Monica tried to be optimistic, but she felt that she'd all but lost faith in humankind. "That sounds nice."

"And what about you, Monica? Where will you go?" she looked at her. "Have you been staying with Andrew?"

In fact, Monica had thought a lot about Andrew. She remembered the way he smelled and the way his hands felt in hers. She also remembered how he smiled and how he laughed. She wanted to be with him again, but she couldn't face him. It would be overwhelming. He expected so much of her, and she didn't think she could live up to it – but also, she didn't know if she could be alone with him again because if she wrapped her arms around him, she didn't think she would ever let go.

Across town, Andrew sat where he had been sitting day in and day out, in a little bar in one of the shabbiest neighborhoods at the end of the city. His face had grown stubble and he'd let himself go, trying to find the meaning of life at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. No matter how much he drank, though, he never got drunk enough; it was like his body wouldn't take it.

"Hey blondie, how many is that now?" the bartender called down the bar towards him, "Ten? Eleven? You on some kinda bender?"

Andrew wasn't an angry drinker, but he found himself slipping into some kind of indifferent stupor where the slightest word irritated him. He didn't bother acknowledging the man. It was pointless anyway.

Instead, he kept thinking about Monica and then pushing her out of his mind because it felt too good to think of her, to remember kissing her. She had felt so warm and pure in his hands, but now he was sure that he'd dreamed her up. She was gone out of his life so fast.

"Hey bartender." Andrew's voice sounded rough to his own ears, like it hadn't been used in years. "Send me another."

The older fat man at the end of the bar threw him a look. "Hey, you sure, blondie? You look like you might need to slow up."

"You going to get me that drink or should I get it myself?" Andrew felt the tips of his ears redden. He wasn't accustomed to abrasiveness, but he felt it was warranted here. He watched as the bartender poured his twelfth drink of the night and he marveled in the way that man's hands shook as he did it.

Tess stood staring at Monica's canvas as Monica held her breath. She didn't like the thought of rejection – especially from the older woman. Her brown hands were clasped in front of her as if they were praying, but Tess was studying the work, looking deep within it. The meaning was lost somewhere amongst the angst, the thoughtful brushstrokes, but there was song coming off the canvas; that much was clear.

"Angels…" Tess said. "…Angels. All these sweeping landscapes and then angels, right out of the blue."

"I don't know why." Monica said in a small apologetic voice.

"Well, don't get me wrong, angel girl, they're lovely – whether they're alone, faces faded slightly or smack dab in the middle of an Irish loch. I love them, and I insist on paying you for them."

"Oh," Monica began to protest, "Tess, I couldn't take money from you. They aren't that good. I just…"

"Are you going to argue or are you going to let me do this?"

"Well…" Monica felt comforted somehow, by Tess's sternness. "…what if I just _gave_ them to you, for lettin' me stay with you? A wee bit of compensation, perhaps?"

"That's silly, Monica. I _invited_ you to come with me, not the other way around." Tess began moving about the vast suite, her long ebony hair swaying gently down her back as Monica watched. She seemed distant. "I can have someone move your things in here, whenever you want."

Monica shrugged. "I don't have many things. In fact, I don't own any furniture at all. Mostly the clothes on my back and a few odds and ends." She regarded Tess. "I don't want to be a burden on you. I'm sure I could stay in a shelter when you get tired of havin' me around."

Tess waved a hand at the words. "That's crazy talk. I would no sooner leave you in a shelter than I would my own daughter or… sister."

Monica exhaled at that and then got a curious sensation. "Tess, do you have any wee ones of your own?"

Tess shook her head. "No. I don't have any sisters either - but I do feel motherly in my heart. I just never… I never followed through on any of that..."

Tess' voice trailed off and Monica nodded as she recognized that look, the same look she got when she herself attempted to remember her own lifestyle before the past several months, as if it had been omitted. As Tess continued to stand in the center of the room, her brows furrowed in thought, Monica went to her and wrapped her comforting arms around the elder woman, stroking her hair just where the black ended and the white began.

"I know how you feel." Monica said. "I feel it too. Every time I try to recall, it's as if I'm not allowed entry, into my _own_ thoughts – imagine that!"

"You feel it too…" Tess repeated in a voice far older than she looked, centuries old, in fact.

"You stay here and rest while I go out and get some things for dinner…unless you want more take-out." Monica disentangled herself from Tess. "There's something so impersonal, though, about pasta and salad in Styrofoam boxes."

Tess nodded, absently, lowering herself onto the plush couch and reclining back into the cushions. "You take such good care of me, baby."

Monica smiled, her fondness for Tess surprising even to her, considering they had only met a little less than two weeks ago. "I was going to say the same about you."

In the market, Monica shopped for real ingredients: cloves of garlic, linguini, tilapia, tomatoes, and zucchini. She knew she could make a delicious meal for Tess, and as she stood staring into the fresh produce, she hoped she could stay this way forever, as close to her new friend as possible, comfortable and safe. Then, she caught the whiff of fresh bread and thought of Andrew, his wheat colored hair, his strong hands against the small of her back. She wondered when she would stop aching for him, and then she caught herself before the lump in her throat formed into a ball. Feeling fragile, she held back the sob and the tears and moved to the checkout.

In the parking lot, she fished in her pocket for the key to Tess' red car and got inside. It was like being inside a large boat, lulling across the road on a cloud. Monica liked the wind in her hair with the top down and she felt like she was flying, escaping all the pain of the world. Then, in an instant she was thinking of Jaime, her pale face so clear in her head that it made her swerve a bit. She pulled over to the edge of the road and waited until her heartbeat returned to its normal pace.

When she started the car again, she aimed it in the direction of the old apartment. She figured if she got the rest of her small belongings now, then maybe she'd never have to return to that place again. It was too painful.

As if in a trance, she parked the car on the street, went up the steps and opened the door with the key she forgot she still had. Inside, standing in the kitchen was Caryn and a man Monica recognized vaguely from before. The first time she'd seen him, he'd been with Jaime and he'd been dressed in a costume. He had made a rude remark and sent Monica running to her room. Now, however, he looked different, dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans. There was soft music playing in the background and candles flickering against the bare walls. Caryn was looking as pleasant as possible, her dreadlocks hanging about her head like the leaves of a willow tree. Monica regarded them both.

"Hello." She said in a tentative voice to match the quiet tone of the room.

"Hi, Monica." Caryn smiled. "Remember Eric, Jaime's friend?"

He looked at her so long it made Monica blush and look away. "Hi, Irish." His voice was deep, hypnotic.

Instead of answering, Monica moved past him and went to turn on an overhead light. She wasn't sure what was going on, but she knew that it felt wrong.

"Caryn, I thought you were going to stay with your parents?"

"Oh, I am." She nodded, "But then I ran into Eric, and you know, he's kind of in the business of making people feel good…" There was a nervous edge to her voice that Monica didn't recognize, nor did she like.

"You don't need him to make you feel good." Monica said uncaring of Eric looking on. "You can feel fine on your own."

"You've always been preachy, Monica." Caryn said in a quiet voice. "Why don't you ever try and see the good in others?"

"Yeah, Irish," Eric put in, his stare intense, "You give me a chance, you just might like me."

"I'll never like you." Monica said, "And I don't think you can offer anyone anything."

"That's what I mean." Caryn said in a sober voice. "If you just give stuff a chance, you'll see how okay it is. You can't tell me you're doing fine right now. You're so pale and so thin and under a lot of stress." She pointed out, noting the way Monica's clothes hung off of her slim frame, even moreso than before. "Jaime's dead. You haven't been to work in at least a week. You're probably fired. You don't have any family or friends. Everyone needs recreation sometimes."

"I have friends." Monica said, but her lip quivered a bit. Truthfully, Andrew was gone from her life, almost as quickly as he had come in – and it was all her own fault. And now Tess was letting her stay with her – but for how long? Maybe, eventually, she would tire of Monica too. And then where would she go? The thought made her shut her eyes. "This isn't you, Caryn." She whispered, feeling cornered and afraid, but unable to walk out, needing to let it play out.

"Anyway, Eric brought some stuff over. He said it would take the edge off, let it feel like Christmas. Don't you love Christmas, Monica? The happiness and the lights – just like when we were kids." But Monica couldn't remember being a kid. She could scarcely remember last year. Caryn draped an arm over Monica's shoulder, and it almost felt like home again. She let her head rest against Caryn's shoulder, Caryn's hand smooth over her long dark hair.

"You're so pretty, Irish." Eric said, reaching into his pocket, but his voice wasn't like Andrew's at all. It was dark and harsh. Monica felt like an adolescent, going along for the sake of friends. What had they called it on the television? Peer pressure?

When Eric's hand came up, he was holding pills, small white ones, one for each of them. Monica could only stare as he licked his lips and approached them. "You remember communion?" Monica couldn't. "The priest lay the body of Christ on your tongue. It's supposed to be holy, but it's a little kinky, I think." He grinned, and Caryn mirrored the gesture.

Monica pondered the ramifications, silently. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe she would feel better, like Jaime had always told her she would. Maybe she was too busy preaching all the time to really enjoy life. Maybe that was her problem. Still, she felt a certain terror at going along with it. She knew it could end badly, and she knew she could live to regret it. Whatever she decided, though, she wouldn't leave Caryn alone. If she couldn't convince her to leave, then she would stay with her. She wouldn't make that mistake twice, leaving a friend in peril.

And finally, the thought of Andrew popped into her head, his pleasant face in plain view, his hazel eyes smiling on her, pure and warm. She hesitated only briefly before she opened her mouth and let Eric lay the tablet on her tongue.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi. I am here uploading the next chappy. Hope it turned out well. It was a complicated one , but I thought it turned out rather fun. (it needed some fun) As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. It makes my day! **

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Monica opened her eyes and realized, with a jolt, what a mistake she was making. She pushed Eric away from her and the pill fell to the floor between them. Caryn glanced at Monica and shook her head, slowly.

"Monica?" her eyes were question marks. "What…"

"You're really starting to piss me off, Irish." Eric's voice was low, dangerous.

"I don't care." Monica glared at him and then looked at Caryn. "I don't want to do this. And neither should you."

"Why don't you get the Hell out of here?" he towered over Monica, but she stood her ground.

"I'm not leaving without Caryn." She looked at her friend, stared into her dark frightened eyes. "I won't leave you here."

"Monica…"

"Don't think about it, Caryn, just come with me." Monica extended her hand towards her.

"You don't have to listen to her, Caryn." Eric stepped in front of her and rested a large hand on her shoulder. "You're a big girl."

Caryn's eyes were pleading. She wanted to do the right thing, but she needed release. Eric was offering her a way of escape, and she was on the verge of taking it – but then Monica's hand took hers.

"Caryn, I love you, and I don't want to see you hurt." Monica's voice was filled with conviction, like she really meant it. "You're better than this." The thought of anyone caring for her brought tears to Caryn's eyes. Monica was like an angel, and it shook her to her core. How could she resist something so powerful?

She nodded. "Alright Monica. I'll go with you."

Hand in hand, the two of them moved past Eric wordlessly, with him looking on, his eyes blazing hatred for Monica. He felt that this wasn't over…

Outside, Caryn was trembling, but Monica was sure as she ever was. She hadn't forced Caryn to do anything she hadn't wanted to do. Instead, she'd showed her that there was a better way, a better road than the one she was traveling.

As they slid into the car, Monica glanced over at Caryn. "Are you alright?"

Caryn nodded. "Yeah. I think so." She looked at Monica. "You saved my life back there."

"Oh, I don't know about that…"

"You did. You're such a good person, and I almost dragged you down with me." Caryn turned to stare out the window. "I'm such a bad person."

"You resisted temptation." Monica said, half-smiling. "We both did. I think that has to count for something."

Caryn nodded, slowly. "I guess you're right."

"Do you want to go home to your parents now?"

As Monica pulled the car away from the curb, Caryn nodded, her eyes glazed with tears. She'd never be able to express how grateful she was to Monica. There weren't nearly enough words.

. . .

Later, when Monica got back to Tess' suite, she wasn't surprised to see that Tess had begun making dinner without her. She looked so warm and parental in an apron and with her oven mitts on that Monica avoided her gaze, terrified that Tess would see the truth in her eyes, see what she almost did back at the apartment.

"I brought pasta and a few other things…" Monica began moving about the kitchen around Tess, putting things away. "I'm sorry I was late. I got caught up." It hurt to lie to Tess, but she couldn't tell the truth. At least not yet.

. . .

Across town, Andrew played pool in a small tavern with a man he had met a few days ago. He was a young man who'd happened upon Andrew at one of his darkest times, and something about his countenance had made Andrew falter. He'd put down his drink and never picked it up again, and he'd suspected that that had been the young man's purpose in the first place.

Usually, when they played, Andrew sat in the shadows until it was his turn and they didn't speak much. He was taking it all in: life, death, and everything in between. He didn't know what it was all for – and he wondered what kept the young man so cheerful, so pleasant. It was the oddest thing.

"Rafael?" He spoke and his voice sounded dry to his own ears. The young man looked at him with open, coffee colored eyes.

"Yeah, Andrew?"

"What keeps you going?" he really needed to know. It had been bugging him for a while. He still thought about Monica, and it ached him, seemed like a cruel joke that he should have met her at all only to lose her. This young man seemed wise beyond his years even while he seemed maybe twenty - if he was a day.

"Well," he paused, his handsome smile a bit shy. "It might sound corny to you."

"At this point, I don't think it matters."

Rafael shrugged his narrow shoulders. "I pray a lot. I think about God and I talk to him. He comforts me when I need it. It helps."

Andrew was on the verge of rolling his eyes, but he didn't. This was the most he and Rafael had spoken since they'd met, and he didn't want to offend him already. It was nice having a friend, someone to talk to. The thought of God made him angry and confused. If there was a God, how could he let him hit rock bottom like this? Why was he torturing him this way? Then again, he wasn't lying dead somewhere in a gutter, although he'd wished it on several occasions…

"I met a man once," he began speaking, "about two or three weeks ago. He was dressed in white. He was…" Andrew paused, certain Rafael would think he was insane. "…he was the angel of death."

Rafael kept his eyes on his shot, unable to look at Andrew for fear of him seeing truth betrayed in his eyes. Andrew was so down it was difficult to be around him when he was like this, so human and so downtrodden. He was used to seeing him sure-footed and majestic and straight-laced. _This_ Andrew was almost the opposite of that one with his depression and his stubble.

When he'd found Andrew, he'd been sitting at a barstool, drinking alcohol like water. Something in his physiological self hadn't been able to process it so that he wasn't actually drunk, but Andrew had tried his hardest to get there in spite of his limitations – or lack thereof. It had taken everything inside Rafael not to blurt out the truth, but he wasn't permitted. Not yet. It was too soon, and the truth wouldn't have been available to him yet anyway. Instead, he nodded. "That's really something."

Andrew let go a small laugh. "So, that's it?"

Rafael broke the rack and then stood up and faced Andrew. "Seeing angels isn't so strange. People claim to see UFO's, right?"

Andrew shook his head. "I don't place little green men in the same category as the guy I saw. He was… so real. He spoke to me."

"Yeah? What'd he say?"

Andrew tried to remember. "He said… his name was Adam. He told me to… 'hang in there', if you can believe that."

"I can believe that." Rafael said with a fond smile. "That sounds like something he might say. Death, I mean."

Andrew looked at Rafael closer. He had the impression that he was being misled somehow. "Right. Sure."

One thing Rafael noted, something that might help Andrew along, would be to get him back to the thing that made him happiest. He could sense evidence of a broken heart, which was odd since Rafael was only used to dealing with this sort of thing in humans – not angels. Still, it held all the same symptoms. Andrew was angry, listless, lonely.

"So, you got a lady friend?" Rafael threw out offhandedly.

Andrew looked down at his feet, shuffling them. "No."

"Good lookin' guy like you? I find that hard to believe."

Andrew shrugged. "I don't want to talk about that."

Rafael already knew who it was that was plaguing Andrew, and he didn't know if it was in God's long term plan, but he thought it might help him if he were reunited with her. Maybe it would make things easier, for the time being.

"Maybe you should go to her." He said, and Andrew's green eyes found his.

"I don't think…"

"Don't think." Rafael's beige face was almost as persuasive as his words. "Find her."

. . .

It was late as Tess sang quietly to herself and fondled the edges of a knitted pillow in her long dark fingers. Monica sat nearby looking into the fireplace and listening to the crackle of wood. She and Tess had a comfort level that surpassed anything Monica was accustomed to. In fact, it frightened her a little.

"Tess, I'm going to go out for a wee bit."

"Okay, Angel girl. The keys are on the counter."

"No, Tess. I think I'm going to take a walk."

Tess looked over at Monica, her deep eyes inquisitive. "Are you sure, baby? It's late."

Monica nodded. Something was calling to her, something in the night. She knew that if she only went out into it, she'd find it. Maybe it would be answers to all her questions – and Tess' too.

The night was dark, and Monica hugged her sweater to herself, clutching herself. The wind picked up, chilling her to the bone, making her dark hair fly around her face in long wavy streamers. She was almost cold enough to turn around, but she kept walking, driven.

Mere blocks away, Andrew walked, his feet carrying him somewhere and nowhere. He didn't know where. Rafael's words had inspired him, and though he was afraid of finding nothing, he kept onward, his heart propelling him.

It was darker here, no streetlamps. The neighborhood turned worse and there was broken glass on the sidewalk, urine soaked bus stops and remnants of drug use, cigarette butts littering the gutters.

Monica shuddered and thought of turning back. Down an alley, she caught a pair of eyes peeking at her through the darkness, glowing yellow eyes. She was too afraid to cry out or run; she could only stare back at them as they filled her with terror. And then, something that made her blood run cold: they came nearer, grew larger in the darkness. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand and stood there, knees weak enough to drop her, but then she found herself in a pair of protective arms.

She screamed before she realized who it was.

"I'm here." He said as he held her to him. "Monica."

"A-Andrew?" she held a hand to his face, touched his cheek, his chin, his lips, just to make sure. "Andrew…"

He held her tight in his arms, and the thing that had been watching her slithered away, back into the darkness. Her eyes searched the shadows for it but found nothing.

"I'm sorry, Andrew." She whispered into his chest. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head, holding her tight to him. "No, you did nothing wrong…"

"I ran away from you." She looked up into his eyes, normally hazel but dark in this light.

"You were upset. I should have given you time."

"I missed you so much." She let her tears fall. "So much…"

He held her to him, breathing in her scent, the sweetness of her, the softness of her. It was all encompassing, and he felt he was drowning in it, but happily so.

Her hand caressed his stubble cheek, his long wheat-colored hair. She let her fingers get tangled in it, remembering him all over again. He was just as he was when she last saw him - but also different in small ways. For instance, his eyes were so intense now. She felt a pang of guilt. His suffering was _her_ fault.

"I'm so sorry I left you, Andrew." As she spoke, he let his fingers get lost in her long dark hair, longed to be closer to her. "I was so upset and so afraid."

"I understand." He said. "How are you now?"

"I'm so happy you're here." She took a step closer to him and took his hands in hers. "You won't believe where I'm staying."

When they arrived back at Tess' suite, Monica found Tess curled up on her daybed sleeping with a nice book in her hands. Quietly, she removed her shoes and placed the book on the nightstand next to her lamp. She tucked her in, as if she were her own child, and lay a soft kiss on her cheek. She dearly loved Tess and didn't want to wake her.

In the next room, she met Andrew who stood with his hands at his sides.

"You can relax, Andrew." She said, her brown eyes flickering against the light of the fireplace.

But he shook his head. "I don't think I _can_ relax, Monica. The thought of losing you again… I can't bear it."

She smiled, slightly. "You don't have to worry about losing me, Andrew. I won't leave you. I promise."

His laugh was nervous and soft. "I wish I could believe you."

She exhaled, slowly and approached him. Her eyes were so serious as she reached for him, wrapped her arms around his middle. He stiffened at first, but then he loosened up and let her hold him. His eyes were so troubled, but when he looked into her mocha-colored ones, he felt himself melting.

"I love you, Moni- " His voice broke as he said it, and she quieted him with a gentle kiss. His hands were at his sides as she kissed him a second time and then a third. And then his hands came up to rest on her shoulders, one caressing her cheek as he leaned in and kissed her back, a deep hungry kiss that threatened to swallow them both.

They hadn't even realized they were swaying when Andrew let his hands drift down to the small of her back and pull her to him, closer than before, their bodies melding. He could taste her the way he could before, so sweet and rich. She was like honey in her purity and he found he wanted more.

"Andrew…" she half-whispered, half-moaned as his lips traveled down her slender neck and kissed and nibbled her there. The sensations shooting through her were powerful enough to rock her to her core. She felt delirious and weak kneed. Without his strong hands holding her up, she might've fallen…

Outside the window, perched on the limbs of a great oak, sat two beings who watched in awe, a little embarrassed but also intrigued.

"I don't think they should be doing this." Rafael said in a quiet voice, the tips of his ears pink with warmth. "Maybe we should make them stop, somehow."

"I don't think we're supposed to interfere." The analytic little angel known as Gloria took notes on a pad. "As far as humans go, this behavior is perfectly normal."

"But they're _not_ humans," Rafael argued. "They're angels!"

"Not in their current state, they're not." Gloria pushed her glasses up her nose. She was furiously taking notes as Andrew and Monica 'got better acquainted'. "If they were angels, they wouldn't even have these kinds of desires. But, as it stands…"

"We should intervene." Rafael said, shielding his eyes from the scene inside the suite. "I'm going to create a diversion."

"Well, it was _your_ idea to bring them back together, Rafael." Gloria shrugged, reasoning it out. "Maybe this isn't such a bad idea."

"I didn't know they would… end up like _this_…" he gestured toward the window. "…they'll never regain their grace this way."

"I think mortality suits them." Gloria nodded. "They fit together so well, don't they? Then again, I always thought they would."

"That's not the point of this." Rafael was unsure how to proceed. "And what if they give in to it? What if they _stay_ human?"

"I don't think it will come to that." Gloria said, but she seemed a little unsure. "Also, there are those other forces at work – besides those human issues. What about evil? He's there lurking, waiting to trap them."

Rafael looked grim as he thought of it. "Yeah. Like earlier, in the alley. I'm glad Andrew showed up when he did, otherwise…"

Gloria didn't want to think about it. "Well, I believe that Monica is strong enough to defeat evil. As an angel – or as a mortal."

Rafael looked back through the window where the angels had reigned in their emotions and disentangled themselves from each other. Currently, they were merely chatting, holding hands. He heaved a sigh of relief that things hadn't taken a more… passionate tone. "For everyone's sake, I hope you're right, Gloria."


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello friends! Thanks so much for all the feedback. It keeps me going, really. Again, this was a hard, intricate chapter to finish, but I got through it and hopefully, it will have been worth the effort. Thank you. **

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Tess lay in her bed, dreaming of song. She saw herself in the mother of all choirs, surrounded by golden arches and clouds as breezy as water drifting past. She was singing God's praises and feeling the joy fill her up so that she was overflowing with His grace. The dream put a smile on her face and she opened her eyes to see a man standing by her bedside, wearing a trench coat and a fedora.

She would have screamed at this new stranger's presence in her room, but oddly, she recognized his pleasant brown face almost instantly.

"Sam?"

He nodded. "Hello, Tess. I didn't wish to wake you. You were having a decidedly good dream, I presume."

Tess was too stunned to speak. Where was she? Why was she here in a bed? On earth?

"You don't recall where you are, do you?" Sam's smooth words soothed Tess and she sat up and regarded him.

"Well, I ain't in Kansas. That's for sure." She shivered, a tingling sensation traversing through her, and brushed herself off, as if brushing away the remaining traces of mortality. "How did I get here?"

"These are always the hardest transitions, from angel to human and back again. We bruise so easily in our human forms. I think that's why He does it. So we can see how fallible we are. Knock us down a peg or two, if you will."

"How long have I been in this form?" Tess stood and walked around the room, fondling the curtains, then the windowsill. It was if she'd never seen these items before.

Sam exhaled, calculating time in his head. "A little over two years, and you have done very well under the circumstances. To be human is a great gift and also a great curse. I wouldn't wish it on any angel – but such is thus. At any rate, you have completed your time successfully, Tess. It can't have been easy."

Tess looked into his brown eyes as realization washed over her. It had been two years, but it had seemed like an eternity even while two Earth years to an angel was like a drop in the bucket compared to the centuries spent in and out of heaven. The two years, however, had been made to feel like a lifetime of experiences that Tess could scarcely recall. It was sketchy at best. She'd had vague memories of a young adulthood, but no childhood. She'd sort of remembered a father figure, but that was a false memory, obviously – merely something put in her head to make the experience that much more authentic. Then, she'd recalled a sort of beginning in the music industry, which lead to her becoming a performer and a successful jazz chanteuse.

Sam explained to her, without words, that every hundred years or so, an angel who works closely with humans, is sent to Earth to live as one so as not to forget what it is they're dealing with. While some angels view it as a sort of gift, many angels treat it as a punishment for something they have done wrong. It can be treacherous in some cases and in some cases, it is over and done with in a snap because most angels live as they would if they were still perched on the right shoulder of God himself, pure and holy – a difficult feat in human form.

"And some angels never come back from it." Sam said matter-of-factly. "You remember Kathleen?" he asked it offhandedly as if asking Tess if she remembered a friend from third grade.

Tess considered the fallen angel Kathleen, which instantly made her remember someone else. "Monica!" she rushed towards the other room, but Sam stopped her.

"Tess, you're not in this anymore. Therefore, your contact with Monica has been limited. She can't know what you are yet, and she can't have any inkling as to who _she_ really is or the probationary period will be lost. She'll have to begin again from scratch. Only this time, without you."

Tess' brows were furrowed. "Well, we might have to make an exception. I can't lose my angel girl like that."

"Tess, you know I can't bend on this." He was holding her at bay with outstretched hands, but Tess was tenacious and when she got her mind made up, it was difficult to change it. "Anyway, Monica is a strong soul. I'm sure she won't get lost."

Tess stopped and put her hands on her hips, her nostrils flaring. Monica had always been like a daughter to her – since the beginning. She was overly protective of her and wouldn't dream of leaving her to flounder. It was out of the question.

"Sam, let me appear to her, in my true form." Tess was pleading. "Angels appear to humans all the time. If she needs an angel, I'll be hers."

"You can't, Tess. You're too close to her already. It wouldn't be fair."

"What does she have to do, then, Sam?"

"She has to resist temptation. She has to be more filled with grace as a human than any true human would. She has to exhibit exemplary faith and trust in God. Her heart should call out for him. She has the honest and true part down. She _wants_ to be a good person – and she is, through and through. But she and Andrew have run into a few… ah… problems…" at Tess' inquisitive stare, Sam showed her what her eyes were asking.

On the other side of the door, Monica and Andrew lay cuddled, sleeping on the shag rug, their limbs tangled beneath a quilted blanket. Monica's face fit right in the crook of Andrew's neck like a puzzle piece, just as Andrew's arm wrapped around her like it belonged there. It took a moment for Tess to register what she was seeing.

Angel girl + Angel boy = …?

"Oh sweet heavenly Father…Sam, don't tell me…"

Sam could only nod, a grim expression on his face. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Are they? Have they?" she couldn't get the question out. "Never mind! I don't want to know. We gotta put a stop to it, _whatever_ it is." Tess dropped onto the edge of the bed, her face contorted into a grimace. "Not my two angels. Oh Lord…please help us…"

"They weren't technically supposed to meet, to avoid any chance of this happening. Then again, they _did_ have help." Sam looked at Tess. "There's evil afoot, of course. Always. But one of our own little angels have helped get them together, thinking he was doing a good deed… he has since been reprimanded." Sam let his mind wander to little Rafael who was currently on daycare duty; singing nursery rhymes to baby angels by day and scrubbing cloud dust off arches by night.

"She has to be shown the light." Tess said, and she was glowing as bright as a star, filled with God's grace.

Sam averted his eyes. "Tess, it won't work with me. I can't let you interfere. We have to… let them do whatever it is they're going to do."

Tess shook her head, not seeing the logic. "In human form, they would do what any human would do. If we just let them go along, then they could end up married, having babies, taking out mortgages on houses and going on vacations in Forth Lauderdale!" Tess was wiping tears off her cheek. "Sam, I don't want my angels to go that way – and I can't see them in matching Hawaiian shirts and pushing strollers through a park. It's not natural!"

Sam couldn't help the fond smile that crossed his dark features. He had known Tess for close to millennia, and yet she never failed to surprise him. Her brown eyes were red and filled with water. She would give her life for Monica or Andrew, and this was part of what made Tess such an exemplary angel. She was selfless and true.

"There may be ways around the red tape." Sam muttered. "I don't want to advocate such things, but… we'll look into it." At Tess' smile, he continued. "In the meantime, however, Monica and Andrew must prepare themselves mentally, for what is in store. This thing they're caught up in now is only the tip of the iceberg. There will be a real test of faith in store for them, and that is what will matter most, in the end."

"Well, don't make me wait!" Tess' enthusiasm was infectious. "Tell me how to help them!"

Sam smiled and reached for Tess' hand. "Come with me."

. . .

It was nearly nine o'clock in the morning as Monica stood reading the note left on Tess' bureau. It was written in gold ink and explained Tess' absence as a sudden unexpected meeting with her agent in Milan. Monica's brows were furrowed as she read the words. There was a comforting feeling in the words, but the thought of Tess being gone made her feel a little empty inside. She felt as if she were missing a limb already.

"How long will she be gone?" Andrew asked from the threshold.

Monica shook her head, slowly. "I don't know." She looked at him, into his hazel orbs. "I miss her already."

"She'll be back." He sounded confident. "You two get along so well. I'm sure she misses you too."

Monica nodded, and then she lowered her gaze to the carpet. "She's like a mother to me." She looked at Andrew. "I don't have a real mother. At least, I don't think I do. Not anymore. Anyway, if I had a mother, I would hope she'd be like Tess."

Andrew nodded and approached her, his hands resting on her shoulders. "The two of you were destined to meet." He turned her around to face him. "I think I always knew that."

Monica regarded him. "And what about us, Andrew? You and me?"

He thought for a moment. "I don't know yet what destiny has in store for us."

Monica nodded. "I know one thing." And she leaned up and kissed his mouth gently, a feather-light touch that made him weak in the knees. She had a way of doing that, of making him feel so powerless. She was so gentle in everything she did that he could barely feel her when she asserted herself with him.

He grinned. "You can't keep doing that."

"Doin' what?" she feigned ignorance. And honestly, she had no real clue the impact she had on him, the magnetism.

"You're going to get us into trouble." He grinned and pushed her hair from her face. There was something about her that made him feel so comfortable and so alive and so optimistic. She had a fire inside her that drew him in, that he couldn't explain, but he also felt a barrier, like a warning signal. "I have to go to work at some point, ya know."

Monica smiled as his thumbs drew circles against her skin, intimate little touches that made her feel that much closer to him. She felt it too, that little something that kept her from taking the plunge with Andrew. It was like they shouldn't…

"Don't let me keep you from it." Monica nodded and moved away from his touch. "I'll make dinner, if you'd like. You can come back here when you're done."

He watched her walk away from him, hating the distance. "Monica…"

She nodded. "I know, Andrew. I feel it too." She shrugged. "I don't understand it, but…"

"Maybe…" he hesitated. "…maybe we don't have to listen to it. We're adults, after all." He approached her, let his hands rest on her shoulders, tugging her close enough to let her feel his warm breath against her shoulder. "We've done nothing wrong."

"I don't think there would be that little voice if we weren't meant to listen." She faced him, so close, their noses almost touched.

"What's wrong with loving you?" he asked and brushed his nose against hers.

She shook her head, at a loss for words. "I… I don't…"

And then his lips captured hers, lazily. His hands buried themselves in her thick dark hair as he brought her face in close, letting their mouths meld. Her hands held onto him as they kissed, his mouth parting hers to allow for better access. She tasted amazing, like coffee, like honey, like eternity. The longer he kissed her, the harder it was to stop himself, the harder it was to come up for air.

Her arms wrapped around him, grasping fistfuls of his shirt as he roamed his hands down her back and then up to her pale shoulders peeking from beneath an oversized sweater. He bent his neck to kiss that porcelain flesh as she watched him, her dark eyes glazing over with passion. She wondered, fuzzily, how far this could go, how far they were willing to take it.

"Andrew…" she whimpered as his hands pulled her to him. She could feel his firm body against hers and it felt so right and yet so wrong. She knew they had to stop, knew that if they didn't it would cause irreparable damage. She didn't know how or why she knew it, but she knew it was true. "…Andrew."

"Monica…" he whispered, and his hands fell away. She felt a loss almost immediately. His forehead rested against her shoulder and she comforted him by dragging her hands through his thick mop of blond hair. "…I'm sorry. I just… I get so carried away."

"So do I." She whispered, as if they were being watched. For the first time, she felt as if they were being tested, somehow. It made her a little fearful, but also confident. She knew she could beat it, whatever it was. "You should go, Andrew."

He raised his head to look at her, and she saw that there were tears in his eyes. He was struggling with this as hard as she was, and it was evident right now. For a split second, she thought she caught a glimpse of another Andrew, one who was older and wiser – and yet powerless. _That_ Andrew was used to being in control of himself, and a master of his emotions. Not like this one who was on the verge cracking.

"You're right." He pulled himself together and stepped away from her, turning his back so that he could wipe his eyes without her seeing. "I should go. I have work to do. I should be helping people."

Monica wished she, too, could help someone, but she just nodded and waved to him as he slipped on his jacket and left.

. . .

Out on the streets, Andrew wandered to his truck and intended to drive to his small apartment across town but instead took a detour to the little pub he'd come to know as home. He felt empty inside, but he also felt that he had to find his purpose in life or he'd be finished. He had long since stopped working as a plumber because he felt it was only a ruse, a way for him to drop unnoticed into people's lives so he could be a steady presence for them, maybe work himself into their lives long enough to make a difference, but it never worked out quite the way he planned. He'd begun to feel like a failure.

His night job, however, was different. He felt comfortable in his uniform, helping to deliver people to the hospital – or to death. In the recent weeks after he'd met the man in white, Adam, he'd seen him a handful of times hanging around when people were near their final moments. He was a welcome presence, but he never spoke to Andrew directly. Not since that first time.

Inside the tavern, the sunlight shone in through the blinds. Andrew sat down at the bar and motioned for the bartender to send him a drink.

"The usual?" the bartender asked, but Andrew shook his head, a grim expression on his face.

"Just a ginger ale." but he felt a hand on his wrist next to him. When he turned, he saw a man he'd never seen before, grinning.

"Can I help you?" Andrew tried to keep the steel out of his voice, but it was difficult. He was leery of strangers who sat so close and then smiled that way – and there was something in his eyes, too, that made Andrew catch his breath. They were empty.

"What are you having, buddy?"

"What's it to you?" Andrew turned away from him as the bartender sat his ginger ale in front of him.

The man smirked. "Why don't you try something a little stronger? I'm sure you can handle it, a trooper like you."

"Do me a favor," Andrew said without looking at him. "Get away from me."

"Listen, you look like a man who really needs to drown his sorrows." The man said. "I know just the drink…" and like magic, the bartender sat it in front of him, a greenish swirling liquid like absinth, although, Andrew suspected, more dangerous than that. "…It's got everything you need. If you want to forget..."

Andrew pondered the man's words. Did he _want_ to forget? Would life be easier if he didn't know Monica at all? Would it be easier if he didn't have this thing hovering over his head all the time like a cloudy version of his past? It was all so mysterious and getting more bothersome by the second.

Andrew regarded the stranger, really took him in. He was tall and pale and foreboding, but attempting to be friendly. He smelled foul – but not of body odor. He smelled like sulfur.

"What's your name?" Andrew stared at the drink as he asked it, the contents swirling in the glass, almost hypnotizing him.

"Eric." The man answered in his deep voice, his eyes flashing as he said it.

Andrew reached out, past his own soft drink and caressed the sweaty glass. The condensation wet his hands and he tipped the drink this way and that, watching the curious way the liquid moved, almost like green honey.

"So, what's so great about this stuff anyway?" he asked the man, stalling for time. He suspected that maybe the man had poisoned it or dissolved a GHB into it. He was always running into crazy people here, but they were never this tenacious.

"Oh, believe me, it's not poisoned." Eric answered, as if having read Andrew's mind. "After all, the bartender brought it. Not me. If you want to feel good, and I just so happen to be in the business of making people feel good, then stick around." He winked at Andrew. "Try the drink. You'll like it."

And then Andrew saw himself trying to work under a possible high, accidentally killing someone. He saw himself being fired and maybe even jailed for his negligence. He wanted to _help_ people – not hurt them. And he didn't need this loser showing him more ways of screwing up. He was doing a fine job of that on his own.

"Thanks." Andrew pushed the drink away. "But no thanks."

Eric's face warmed as he glared at Andrew but tried to keep his voice neutral. "You're sure? Oh well. Suit yourself."

There were several minutes of silence as Andrew sipped at his soda, wishing he'd had someone to talk to. Someone like Rafael… or Monica. But then the man interrupted his thoughts again.

"So, you got a lady friend?"

Andrew had had enough of his questions. They all felt so calculated. "Listen, mister, if you have something to ask me, then get it off your chest because I'm getting a little tired."

Eric grinned. "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking of _my_ girlfriend. She's hot, ya know. She used to live with two other girls, but one of them 'bought the farm' if you catch my drift." He looked at Andrew waiting for a reaction. "Anyway, she's really something. She's sexy, with a great body… this long reddish dark brown hair… Irish accent…"

Now, Andrew nearly choked on his drink. "What did you say?"

Eric shrugged. "I call her 'Irish', but that's only when we're alone together, and she's all over me. She loves my body." He chuckled, and Andrew felt himself fill up with rage. It couldn't be true. He couldn't be talking about Monica.

"Irish?" Andrew heard himself say in a hoarse voice. "What's her real name?"

"Oh, her _real_ name?" Eric kept Andrew waiting. "It's Monica."

Andrew balled up his fists, and he was inches away from rearing back, smashing Eric's face in, but something held him back. He took several deep breaths and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. It couldn't be true. He wouldn't believe it.

"Right. Whatever." He said between clenched teeth and slammed his drink down onto the bar so hard that it broke in his hand, but he ignored the pain and the shards of glass in his fingers. He also ignored the stares he got from the other patrons.

When he got outside, he wiped the anger off his face. It was a heavy blow, even the thought of Monica being with another man. He was trying to force it out of his mind, but it wouldn't leave. It was persistent, like an insect bite. He also couldn't get the picture of Eric's sly grin out of his mind. He'd been trying to get a rise out of Andrew almost from the second he'd met him. Now, he'd gotten his wish.

Instead of standing there, Andrew walked towards his truck, past Sam and Rafael who were little more than glowing vapors, and completely invisible to him.

"This is a true test of his character." Sam said to Rafael as they watched Andrew speed down the road. "How he handles this will determine a lot."

"It doesn't seem fair." Rafael said. "We already know what a good person he is. Why isn't that enough?"

"Well," Sam said, regarding the young angel. "It's not up to us, is it?"

Rafael shook his head, slowly. "Can't I help him?"

Sam looked down the bridge of his nose at Rafael. "I think you've done enough. And shouldn't you be someplace, singing _Baa Baa Black Sheep _to little angels?"

Rafael sighed. "He needs me."

"No, he doesn't." Sam said. "Now is the time for him to find strength within himself." At seeing the little angel's sad face, he patted him on the back. "Now, don't feel that way, little angel. Andrew got a lot out of what you told him about getting familiar with God. Hopefully, he can call upon the lessons you taught him now when he needs it most…"


	11. Chapter 11

**Don't ask me why this chapter came so fast, but here it is! LOL! I think I had to get it on paper before I lost it, and I get nervous when things are working. (Weird. I know.) There's a lot going on here, but I think you'll be happy in the end. I won't be able to post the next chapter til sometime next week maybe, so maybe this will sustain for a little while. Thanks again, for all the kind feedback! **

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Andrew drove frantically, his hand bleeding out. It startled him, the way the blood slipped from beneath his skin, sparkles of glass glistening in the late afternoon light. He caught his breath and slowed to a crawl, pulling his truck over to the side of the street. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and tried to clear his head.

The thought of Monica wrapped up inside another man's embrace felt like a mallet hitting him in the chest. She wouldn't have lied to him. She would never even want a man like Eric. Andrew was sure of it, but he still couldn't get it out of his mind. Every time he started to get closer to her, something got in the way. He was beginning to think that knowing her at all had been a mistake.

Lifting his head, he began, with shaking fingers, to pick glass out of his hand. It hurt like hell, but he carried on, knowing it was urgent. In just one hour, he had to report for work, and he wouldn't miss it for anything. It was one of his few joys in life.

. . .

Inside the immense suite, Monica sat staring into the fireplace. She didn't want to admit to herself how lonely it was without Tess. It made her feel needy, but Tess had been such a formidable presence in her life, a protector, a confidant, and a friend. Now, she was alone again, and it hurt.

When the phone rang, it startled her to no end. She was hoping it was Tess.

"Hello, Tess?"

"Monica?" Caryn's voice sounded far away.

"Oh, Caryn!" Monica was glad to hear from her old roommate. "Caryn, hello. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm great." There was a pause. "How about you?"

"I'm doin' fine. It's good to hear from you."

"Yeah, well… I called because…"

"Is everything alright?"

"Oh, sure! Of course. Yeah. Everything's fine." Caryn's gladness sounded contrived. "I just wondered if you wanted to go out, maybe do something."

Monica pondered. "I… I don't know. I mean… I promised a friend that I'd make dinner…"

"You'd be back way before dinner." Caryn promised. "Anyway, I haven't seen you in so long..."

Monica thought about how nice it would be to chat with her again, face-to-face over a cup of coffee, perhaps. Like old times. "Alright, then. I'll come and pick you up. My friend let me borrow her car while she's gone."

"Sweet." Caryn said. "You remember where my parents live?"

Monica nodded. "Yes, I do. I'll be there in a wee bit."

"Thanks, Monica. I'll see you then."

When Monica hung up the phone and grabbed her jacket, she felt a vague sense of foreboding, but she let it pass. Anymore, lately, she was always feeling apprehensive because there were surprises around every corner. Then again, the thought of seeing Caryn warmed her heart. In the old days, she'd reminded her a little Tess, with her warm brown hands and her gentle singing voice. Lately, though Caryn hadn't seemed at all like Tess. She seemed more like Jaime. Monica shrugged off the thought and started up the car.

. . .

Across town, Andrew walked into his job with a bandaged hand and his supervisor took one look at him and frowned.

"What happened to you?"

Andrew shrugged, an embarrassed smile on his face. "Glass. It's okay."

"It don't look okay. C'mere." The older man unwrapped it and took a closer look. "I don't think I can dispatch you out in this condition. Why didn't you call me?"

Andrew made a face. "I didn't think it was that serious. Anyway, I'm okay for dispatch. I _need_ to work."

"Oh yeah?" the man cleaned Andrew's hand with alcohol, which stung something awful, and then wrapped it with fresh gauze. "Why's that?"

"Just because." Andrew didn't know why it was so important aside from the fact that if he kept himself busy, maybe he could forget or ignore his own problems. Maybe if he saw enough faces tonight, heard enough voices, he could block out Monica's thereby effectively numbing his pain. At least for the time being.

"Does it hurt?" his supervisor looked into Andrew's hazel orbs, and Andrew looked away.

"Yes, sir." He nodded, his heart heavy. He was referring to the invisible damage, the internal damage. He was thinking of Eric's words. He was thinking of not being able to hold Monica the way he wanted to, not being able to get lost in her for fear of something breaking.

"Well, if it's so important, you can ride along, but I'll send another tech – just in case. You're just tagging along, Andrew. Don't forget – and put a plastic glove over that thing. You don't want to get exposed to Hep or anything."

Andrew nodded and went to the supply closet for a durable glove. It fit snugly over his hand and felt smooth to the touch. It was nothing like human skin. Andrew turned and went to where his supervisor had been sitting an instant ago and found him kneeled near his chair, his eyes shut, him murmuring quietly to himself. Andrew could only watch in awe as he prayed.

It was a long prayer, and Andrew wished he could hear all the words, wished he could memorize them. He knew how to pray, but he wondered if he said the right words, if they were acceptable enough to God.

"What's wrong with you, Andy?" a co-worker named Tony passed by him. "Haven't you ever seen a man pray before?"

Andrew nodded, slowly and turned away. He suddenly felt like he was intruding upon something sacred.

"Alright, Andy, you ride shotgun today."

Andrew nodded and headed out to the truck.

. . .

As Monica pulled up to the curb at Caryn's home, she watched as Caryn approached, hand-in-hand with someone else. His face was obscured by a baseball cap pulled over his face, and she didn't realize who it was until it was too late.

"He can't come in this car." Monica said, panic flooding her cheeks as she caught sight of Eric's sly grin. "I'm sorry, Caryn."

"Please, Monica, he doesn't have anyplace else to go. He just needs a ride."

Monica squeezed the steering wheel. She wanted to be helpful, but she was afraid of Eric. Something about him sent a chill through her entire being.

"C'mon, Irish. I won't be any trouble. I just need to get out of here." His voice sounded reasonable enough, but still, Monica was wary.

"Where does he need to go?" Monica's breathing was shallow as she tried to calm herself. She was tense, suddenly, by having him so close.

"To the racetrack." Caryn avoided Monica's inquisitive gaze. "That's not far from here. He lives next to it."

Monica didn't answer straight away. She didn't want to have any parts of this, but if she could manage to drop him off, then maybe she wouldn't ever have to see him again. He almost looked normal with the cap on, vulnerable.

"Alright." She murmured, and Caryn got inside next to Monica with Eric in the back. He didn't say anything, but Monica could feel him back there behind her, his stare like a laser beam on her neck.

"Thanks, Irish." He said and reached up to rest a cold clammy hand on her bare shoulder, his touch like leather.

"What about us, Caryn?" Monica asked, as she moved her seat forward a bit, away from Eric's touch. "I thought you wanted to do something together."

Caryn nodded. "Of course, I want to. I thought you could hang with us."

Monica nodded, but didn't say what she was thinking. She didn't mention that she hated being around Eric and she hated his smell and his voice and everything else about him. She didn't mention that something about him made her skin crawl.

"Why couldn't we hang out at your parent's home, Caryn? It looks like a nice big house. We could have watched a movie or popped some popcorn…"

"Eric wouldn't even come inside. That place freaks him out. My parents are religious freaks and they have all these crucifixes and bibles and pictures of Jesus all over the place…"

"It's like a fuckin' shrine." Eric's voice wafted from the backseat. "I hate all that shit."

Monica shivered. "Oh, that's not so bad." Her voice sounded nervous to her own ears. "I can think of worse things."

Caryn snorted. "They had the place blessed by a minister when they moved in." she was rambling through her small purse. "Something about keeping evil spirits away…"

Monica's foot involuntarily tapped the brake. She cleared her throat, though, and kept driving. When she looked into the rearview mirror, she caught Eric's sly grin before he blew her a kiss. She averted her eyes then, and pressed onward.

When they got to the racetracks, it was crowded and those who weren't actually betting were milling about or looking for an in. Monica was uncomfortable here, and wanted Eric to get out of the car. When she glanced at Caryn, she caught sight of her dipping her finger into a small pouch and then shoving that same finger up her nose.

"Caryn, what are you doin'?" Monica gaped at her. "Drugs?"

Caryn shook her head and wiped her nostril. "No! Of course not. It's… medicine."

Monica reached for her hands. "Listen, Caryn, I know you think I was born yesterday, and… sometimes, I feel like I was – but this is wrong."

Eric was smirking in the backseat, watching them as if watching a crucial moment in a soap opera.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Monica." Caryn swayed a bit, her dreadlocks falling over her brow.

Monica lifted her chin so she could focus. "Please, Caryn. Don't go off with him. Let me take you to a doctor. I can help you, if you let me."

"She doesn't need your help." Eric said. "She already chose her path. What about you, Irish? Which way do you want to go?"

In an instant, Caryn opened the car door and stood up outside. Monica realized she was thinner than usual and dressed in virtual rags, a wispy peace of material for a skirt and a sheer blouse that showed a leopard skin bra beneath. She looked like trash, and Monica felt she might be too far gone to help now.

"I gotta go to the bathroom." She said in a slurred voice before wobbling off through the crowd.

Eric climbed into the front seat and Monica was too distraught to protest. "Aren't you going to go after her, Irish? You're her friend, after all."

Monica swallowed. "What difference would it make? She won't listen to me now." She glanced at him. "_You_ made sure of that."

"She's only doing what she feels she has to do." Eric grinned. "At least if she's high, she doesn't have to think about her past. She can block out the nightmares, forget about a childhood gone too soon. Her first lover was a gambler, ya know. She was only twelve when he took her, showed her the rules of the game… made her a woman. She never forgot the glitz and the glamour of it – no matter how hard she tried." Eric reached out and touched a lock of Monica's hair. "Didn't she ever tell you any of this? Aren't you supposed to be her friend?"

Monica faltered. "I… I'm…"

"Right." Eric's face was smug. "Anyway, she's doing better now. She can effectively block out those things she doesn't want to remember. It's so easy. Who wouldn't want to erase their problems, Irish? Have a little fun…"

"It's not supposed to be easy." Monica whispered. "What's the point of havin' fun, if you didn't have to work for it?"

"That's your problem, Monica." He said, his voice turned serious. "You don't even get it."

She waited, wondering what she should do, then she turned to look into Eric's eyes, his swirling amber orbs. "Who are you?"

He chuckled, touched her lips with his long index finger. "I'm surprised you don't know by now…"

-------

Inside the crowded vestibule, Caryn staggered past people placing their bets. She held onto the wall for support, but her hands were slipping. She felt her heart fluttering in her chest, a handful of butterflies struggling to get outside of her. She tugged at her blouse, pulling it open, her chest heaving. When she went down, there was a scream, and people crowded around her. A security guard broke through the crowd to get to her and checked her thready pulse.

"Move! Give her some air."

"Someone call 911!"

"I'm on it!"

-------

Miles away, an ambulance headed towards the racetrack. Andrew sat up front, his arm hanging out of the window. His hazel gaze was focused forward as they barreled through traffic, sirens screaming into the night. He had no idea what was in store for him, and he had no idea that inside the cabin of the truck, angels sat waiting, invisible to the third tech.

"Lord, please give him strength. Give him the courage to face his demons and get through this without injuring himself too much in the process." Tess prayed as Gloria sat nearby, her hand clutching the notebook Tess had given her. "Please, let him know the truth in his heart and have the ability to speak it as only he can. Please, Father, let him have the presence of mind to realize this will all be over soon, if only he can get through it."

Gloria's worried little face attempted to smile. "I think he's ready now, Tess."

"Lord, I hope so." She said, her dark hands clasped together.

The ambulance arrived at the racetrack and the men stormed inside the ticket hall with gurneys and equipment. "Where is she?" Andrew asked the management as they pointed towards a small crowd of people. His coworkers took the helm as Andrew followed and parted the crowd to see the woman there, unconscious and sprawled on the floor. He stopped in his tracks. He knew this woman. She was Monica's roommate, Caryn.

As they went through their procedures, beginning CPR, Andrew stared down at her. How did this happen? She didn't look like this before, and now she presented with a clear case of drug overdose…

As they lifted her onto the gurney and carried her through the crowd, Andrew caught sight of someone running towards the ambulance. Another familiar face. Two, actually.

"Andrew?" Monica reached for him, but he took a step away from her. His eyes were focused on the man behind her.

"Oh! Hey, Andrew." Eric said, his grin sly as he stood next to Monica, his hand at the small of her back.

"So, it's true…" Andrew's voice faltered as he felt the bottom drop out.

"We gotta go!" Behind him his coworkers yelled to him. "Get in this truck, Andrew! Now!"

Monica was confused. "Andrew…"

His feet were heavy as lead as he trudged backward to the truck and climbed inside, his heart broken – but Monica climbed inside with him, at the last moment before the doors shut her out.

"Andrew, it's Caryn." Monica looked down at her, watching the tech work on her. "She… it was drugs, I think. I don't know what kind. I should have stopped her, but…"

Andrew was numb. "She's going to die, isn't she?"

The tech looked at him, his face white.

Monica's face was panic-stricken. "Why did you say that, Andrew?"

He shook his head. "I don't know… I feel it nearby. Death, I mean. And _he's_ here… the man in white. Adam. Can you see him too?"

Monica looked around but didn't see anything. Adam was perched in a corner of the cabin, his eyes deeply sad, his hands toying with a golden pocket watch. He hoped with everything inside himself that Andrew could overcome this, but time was running out… for everyone.

The tech was continuing CPR on Caryn, and then Adam whispered in Monica's ear to hold on, and she did, unsure why. The ambulance sped through an intersection, and was hit, full force, by an oncoming truck. The driver was knocked out of the front window, and landed on the pavement outside. The tech inside the cabin working on Caryn hit his head on the upper bulkhead and collapsed into an unconscious heap, leaving a shaken Monica and Andrew alone with Caryn. The truck was totaled, the equipment broken.

"Oh God, Andrew…" Monica was stunned. What had happened?

Andrew reached out to touch a bruise that was already forming on Monica's temple. She'd hit her head and didn't even realize it – but otherwise, they were both stable.

Ignoring his own pain, Andrew leaned over Caryn and touched her face, and then he checked her pulse. "Caryn, please. Stay with me. Listen to me. You're… you're going to be fine." He tasted blood in his mouth, but swallowed it down. "She's stable, Monica." He said without looking at her. "Stay with her. I have to… I have to do something…"

Monica was clutching the edge of the gurney in a white-knuckled grip. She didn't know what could possibly happen next. It was so blurry and so uncertain. The truck was smoking, the smell filling the cabin, and she was confused. Why had this happened to them?

Andrew climbed down out of the truck and felt his knees give when he did. At least one of them was broken, but he limped onward. It was like he was possessed. He clutched his arm where it had possibly come out of its ball joint. He should have lain down and waited for another paramedic to come, but he couldn't. He had a purpose, now, that he had to fulfill.

When he got close, he saw his driver, Tony, a man in his thirties, a good man with a family at home. Two little boys and a baby girl. He was bleeding from the side of his head; his face was like ground beef. It had been pummeled by tempered glass as he'd flown out the windshield, but Andrew knew he'd be okay because he was a man of faith. For some reason, that's all that mattered.

"Tony." Andrew caressed his head, brushed away some of the blood. His blue eyes stared out at nothing as he went into shock, chest heaving, and body leaking blood by the gallon. "You're going home." He said, and the words felt natural. They flowed from some place deep within. They were etched in his memory. "Don't be afraid. You're going to be with God in heaven. It's a beautiful place. There's no death there, no pain, no strife. Only joy and splendor."

Tony's eyes were glazing over with tears as he spoke in a hoarse whisper. "My… family…"

And now Andrew smiled. "Oh, they'll be just fine. God will watch over them. He'll take care of them. All you have to do is ask. It's that easy." He cradled Tony's head. "You can ask him now."

Tony shut his eyes and convulsed, but he murmured in a wet throaty voice. "God… please… take care of… of my…. f-family…"

Andrew nodded, his face lit up, his heart filled with gladness. "Amen."

Tony lay in Andrew's arms, and finally Andrew heard a siren in the distance, but it was too late. The man grew still, his heartbeat silent forever. Andrew looked up and saw, amid all the chaos, Adam standing over him.

"You passed." His face was beaming. "I knew you would."

And when Andrew looked down at himself, he saw that he was glowing, filled with God's grace from the inside. He stood and he was aware of himself, the way he used to be, the angelic Andrew. His body was fine, no bruises, and no pain. He brushed himself off and felt a tingling sensation traverse through him. He looked and saw the soul of Tony standing nearby, watching as the medical techs worked on his corpse, an empty shell.

"It's time to go home." Adam said to Tony and gestured for Andrew to follow, but he lingered, looking in the direction of the ambulance where Monica waited for him. "She'll be fine, Andrew. You can't help her now. She has to go the rest alone."

There was a trace of pain on Andrew's face, his delicate eyebrows furrowed as he recalled their time together, but he followed Adam obediently. He would see her again soon, one way or another…


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello, tbaa fans! *waves* Sorry it took so long to update. I was away for the weekend. I know you all are getting tired of waiting for the juicy stuff, but you know what they say about good things... yadda yadda... I did, however, wrap up a lot of 'issues' in this chappy, but I'm saving the shippy stuff. I want it to be good, so just be patient. I won't disappoint, I promise! :^)**

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Monica sat in the back of the ambulance, waiting for someone to come for her. She was holding Caryn's hand in hers and hoping the tech that lay motionless at her side was all right as well. This had to be a nightmare, and she wondered where Andrew had gone and why. He'd seemed so distracted, and then he was just gone – as if into thin air.

When she heard the sirens, she turned her gaze to the front window, and it was like everything was moving in slow motion. The Techs moved towards her as if under water, and then she was being pulled out of the back of the truck and carried towards another. Caryn's gurney was secured into that truck.

"W-where's Andrew?" she asked as hands prodded and checked her.

An EMT spoke to another, and they seemed to ignore her. In the sea of all the chaos, she couldn't find him anywhere, and it was frightening. Caryn was being whisked away to the hospital, and Monica was sitting there, shivering. In this moment, she wished she had never met Caryn – and then she felt guilty for the thought. Life wasn't supposed to be easy, but then there were always barriers in the way – or people in the way. Like Eric.

He had caused this, getting Caryn into drugs, fooling her into thinking that was the only way or that it was the right choice to run away from problems rather than face them head on.

"Hey, did you want to ride to the hospital with your friend?" an EMT asked her, and she nodded, climbing into the back of the truck where Caryn was being transported. She held her hand for support, but it was mostly to anchor herself to reality. Otherwise, she felt she might float away.

. . .

At the hospital, Monica stood around, restless. Andrew was nowhere to be found. A co-worker of his had told her he had gone, but he hadn't known where. In fact, no one knew where he was, and Monica felt dreadful about that. It was like he hadn't wanted to talk to her or even look at her in the back of that ambulance. Then, he'd just walked off. She didn't want to leave things tense between them, and she didn't want him to be out of her life. It was too soon and too abrupt. There were so many things she wanted to say to him.

The doctors had told her there was nothing she could do here. Caryn was stable enough, and due to her medicine, she wouldn't wake up until later. She'd been resistant to a lot of the meds they were trying on her, but now, she was in a fitful sleep at least. Monica had been told to go home and wait to be notified of any change, but she didn't want to go home alone. She didn't have Tess or Andrew. She didn't even have Caryn right now. For the first time, she felt truly, utterly, alone.

She wandered through the large corridors of the hospital until she came to a wide open wing where the large lonely chapel was, at the end of the hall. She peeked inside, and then she heard someone at a distance behind her, tall and dark, a sly grin on his face.

"Hello, Irish."

"What are you doing here?" Monica's voice sounded numb to her own ears.

Eric shrugged. "I came to check on you."

"I don't need you to check on me." Monica said, the warmth from the chapel at her side, inviting her in.

"How are you?" he asked, keeping his distance. "Andrew seemed upset."

Monica thought about his words then narrowed her eyes at him. "Where is Andrew? You know, don't you?"

Eric made a face. "I don't know. Maybe he's abandoned you…"

"Tell me." Monica felt her lip tremble.

"I can't." Eric stared her down, his amber eyes shifting to dark. "Anyway, would you rather follow after that loser or stay here and keep vigil over your friend? She doesn't seem stable enough to make it without you, in her current state."

"It's your fault."

"Hey, I didn't twist her arm." Eric shrugged. "She wanted to forget herself. Wouldn't you like to do the same?"

Monica turned to look inside the chapel where Tess stood with Sam. She had her arms outstretched towards Monica even if Monica couldn't see her. But somehow, Monica could feel the warmth…

"Don't listen to him, baby." Tess was whispering. "Come inside and find grace. Ask God for strength."

Sam stood nearby, waiting. He imagined that Monica would find it on her own, even though this was a very confusing time and she had virtually no one left on earth to help her. If only she could look inside herself and see what needed to be done.

"Irish, I can make you feel good again." Eric reached towards Monica. "You don't need Andrew for that."

Monica shook her head. "I don't trust you."

"You never even gave me a chance." He said, and his eyes seemed whole again, human. "It's just like Jaime always said. You're so high and mighty all the time, so superior. You think you're better. If you'd just give me a chance, you'd see that I'm not all bad."

Tears sprang to Monica's eyes at the mention of Jaime. "It wasn't that way." She whispered.

Eric looked right into her eyes. "Even Caryn could never live up to your standards. Why do you think it was so hard for her to be your friend? How could she ever be good enough?"

"I never asked anything of her…" Monica's voice broke.

Eric was nodding. "Yes, you did, Irish. Always making demands, always judging. You wanted her to be something she wasn't. She's just a human. Humans make mistakes."

"And what am I?" Monica's tears streamed down her cheeks. Realization began to wash over her.

"That's your decision." Eric reached for her. "You could do it better than either of those two ever did. You won't fail at life like they did because you have strength. I could show you a good life."

Monica wanted to believe him, but she knew in her heart that she couldn't. She had to trust her own instincts now, now that she was all she had left.

"I'm sorry." She said in strong voice, backing away from him. "I don't need you. I never needed you."

Now his eyes turned hard again, vicious and evil. "Monica, don't be stupid!" his voice was harsh as he sneered at her. "Don't make the same mistake twice!"

"I won't!" she said and turned her back on him, gravitating inside the chapel. Behind her, his face distorted, turning him into a monster as he vanished into thin air. She didn't need to see the transformation to know what he really was.

At the alter, she fell to her knees and cried, her body wracked with heaving sobs. She felt so alone, but she knew she had one last place to turn.

"F-father in heaven… why have you f-forsaken me?" she wiped her tears and waited. The warmth felt so familiar that it startled her. She opened her eyes expecting to see God standing before her, but there was only the familiar sight of the podium, the open bible, the pews behind her, silent and massive.

"Please, show me the truth. About everything." She paused. "Please, Father, let me know my purpose, let me be useful and true, honest and good. I w-want to serve you … I want…" she felt herself choking up again. She wanted so many things. She wanted to be a good person, through and through, she wanted to know God's glory, she wanted to have Andrew beside her. He seemed so far away right now…

Then, she thought of Caryn and she thought of Jaime, of how she had lost her so easily because she wasn't willing to understand, to listen to her heart, to speak the true word of God. She couldn't imagine the thought of losing Caryn the same way. It was not an option.

As she stood, an invisible Tess watched her with tears streaming down her face. "You know what you have to do, baby. I know you can do it."

Monica had a renewed sense of purpose and she walked down the hallway, out of the chapel, into the main hospital corridor. She knew what she had to do even though she wasn't sure how she would go about it. She only knew that it had to be done. She would find her own way, even if it took all night – or the rest of her life. She wouldn't let another person suffer because of her own naiveté. She would rather die first.

When she found Caryn's room, she hesitated outside the door. Somehow she knew that once she crossed the threshold, there was no turning back. It felt like the last thing she would ever do, and she wondered briefly, if it was worth it. Eric's words came wafting back to her, floating around in her head like a dream. _I could show you a good life._ Yes, but at what price? What could he show her that she hadn't already seen? More hardships? More pain? She wanted to be a better human, but what would it prove? People had been trying to do it since the beginning of time. Why would she be any different? No, she knew she had a purpose bigger than that, if only she could see it through.

Her hand turned the knob and she went inside. Caryn lay there, her body so lifeless and empty. Her head was turned to the side, and her eyes moved beneath her lids. She was having a fitful sleep, and the medicine coursing through her veins was doing nothing to soothe the mental anguish.

Monica placed a hand on her cool brown skin, pushed errant dreadlocks off her brow. "Caryn?"

Caryn turned her head a bit to the side and opened her eyes. When she saw Monica standing there, they filled with water, and she shook her head a bit.

"It's alright, Caryn." Monica said, "Don't worry. I'm here now."

Caryn's voice was dry as she spoke. "Just leave me, Monica. Like everyone else. I deserve it."

"You don't deserve it."

"I do, Monica. You don't understand…"

"Shh…" Monica tried to hush her, but it was too late. Caryn was giving up.

"No one stays with me for very long." She whispered. "Not my parents, not my friends… not even you. And you're like… an angel or something…"

Caryn paused while Monica dragged a gentle hand across her hair. "I won't leave you, Caryn."

"But you will. B-because nobody loves me."

Monica nodded, felt herself fill up with splendor. "God loves you, Caryn. Even if no one else does. He always did. You just… you didn't know."

Caryn's eyes overflowed with water. "How do you know that, Monica?"

Monica shrugged, her heart bursting with warmth. "I just do. I think… I was supposed to make sure you knew it all along, so you could carry on, hand your burdens and your pain to Him. To God." She smiled at her and felt herself glowing with God's grace. Something was happening that was larger than both of them. She could see her own light reflected in Caryn's eyes, and it didn't frighten her. It was like she always knew.

Caryn was sobbing, coughing. "Oh God, Monica. You r-really _are_ an angel. I can't believe it. You're an angel."

Monica nodded. She wasn't human any longer. There was a shimmer throughout her body, and she was an angel again, strong and sure. She spoke with a confidence she didn't know she had.

"God will help you and keep you, if you only let Him. He loves all of his wee children. That includes you, Caryn."

She was sobbing. "M-me?"

Monica nodded, her own eyes misty. "Yes. And even if there's a time when I'm not here with you, He will never leave your side. You only need to call out to Him."

Caryn nodded, a smile on her face, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes. Maybe, Monica mused, she would be fine now, now that she had found her way back…

As Caryn shut her eyes and spoke to her Father with long awaited words of testimony, Monica felt herself be pulled into a gleaming white world. Heaven.

. . .

She stood on the edge of eternity and looked into its everlasting horizon, waiting. Her memories as a human were quickly fading and being replaced with her real memories, as an angel on the right hand of God, but she held onto her most special moments. She held tight to them, savored them as Tess approached her from a beam a light off into the distance.

Her arms were outstretched as she got within arms length and pulled Monica into her embrace. There were no words needed as she held onto her and rocked her. She had come so close to losing her, but it had all turned out okay in the end. As long as she kept her faith, she knew, deep down, that it would all work out.

"I was so worried about you, baby." She said, finally, not bothering to wipe away her tears. "I'm so proud of you."

Monica nodded, her own eyes streaming water. "Tess, I missed you so much. I felt so alone."

"Well, angel girl, you were never really alone. You know that."

Monica nodded. "I know." She looked into Tess' familiar brown face, so eager to get things back to normal, but needing to also set things straight. "So much happened."

"Yes, it did. I'm so glad to have you back. Safe and sound."

"And what about Andrew?" her voice was quiet as she asked it, and Tess scrunched her brow as if trying to recall.

"Andrew? He's around, baby. Probably working. He was so eager to get back to work. You know Andrew. He's a trooper."

Monica nodded. She was anxious to talk to him. "We… we spent a lot of time together, Andrew and I. Down there… on Earth…"

Tess nodded, her smile motherly. "Oh, he'll be around. He's probably just excited to get back into the swing of things."

Monica nodded. "Of course." But really, she was hoping she could see him soon. She didn't know if they should talk about what went on between them on Earth, and she was eager to discuss it before the memories faded away completely. She wondered if he still thought about it or if he'd forgotten already. "Tess, when will I have a new assignment?"

"Well, first you need time to talk to the angel's angel and then get yourself back into angel mode, baby. It's a bumpy transition jumping from angel to human and back again. I don't even feel all the way right yet, but then…" Tess shrugged. "… I never felt quite right in human skin. It's itchy."

Monica smiled. She was glad for the time. She could spend it trying to find Andrew. Even if he didn't recall their time together, even if he didn't remember the sweet things he had said to her or done with her, then at least she could see him and chat with him like old times – before they were loves. The thought of it sent a tell tale shiver up her spine, and she wished she wouldn't have felt it because first of all, an angel wasn't supposed to experience such things – and secondly, now she knew she would _never_ forget their time together; it was imprinted on her soul forever…


	13. Chapter 13

**woot! hello, tbaa fans. here is chap 13. I hope you like it. I think this is second to last chap, but we'll see how it goes. I hadn't set out to make it epic, but its getting pretty lengthy. *sigh* Anyway, this one was fun to do. hopefully, its fun to read - and thanks again for all the kind reviews! :^)**

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Monica had been back in heaven for weeks, and in sessions with a counselor for almost as long to discuss reasons why she'd still somehow managed to hold onto her memories as a human. It wasn't only abnormal, but it was baffling to the others who had already forgotten most or all of what they had experienced on Earth.

"Are you still having those dreams, Monica?" the counselor asked her now, during their fifth session together.

Monica shrugged. "I suppose so. Yes."

"And are they still the same dreams?"

On this question, Monica hesitated. Her face warmed, and she coughed lightly. In spite of the promise of confidentiality, she couldn't bring herself to blurt it out, certainly not to this stuffy angel sitting behind the desk, taking notes on a little pad in gold ink. If she told what she was seeing in her head, images of she and Andrew together, locked in a warm embrace, his fingers tangled in her hair, it might be the end of her as an angel. Of course she couldn't hide the truth from the Father, but an angel was different. Also, she couldn't bear the thought of the truth getting back to Andrew - or worse, Tess.

And speaking of Andrew, she'd searched all his usual haunts and hadn't managed to find him in all the time they had been back. It was upsetting and a little frightening. She was sure he was avoiding her because in many cases, she'd turn up someplace where he'd only just left from, almost as if he'd been made aware of her prior to her showing up. At this point, she'd only wanted to make sure he was okay since she hadn't spoken to him since they'd been back.

"The dreams are the same, yes." She nodded.

"Still dreaming about angels on balconies…" the counselor mused. "…weird."

Monica nodded, an apologetic smile on her face.

Since she'd returned, Monica had not been allowed to take on any new assignments until her supervisor was given her papers of clearance. The fact of the matter was, Monica just wasn't quite there yet. She still wasn't herself in the sense that her inner peace was off. And even if the counselors didn't know the true reason, they could certainly sense that much.

"Alright, Monica." The counselor pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and sighed. "I don't understand it, why you still have memories of your time down there. They should have faded long ago, but otherwise, at least, you're fine. I guess I'll see you again tomorrow, same time. Perhaps we'll try regression therapy."

Monica could barely suppress a groan as she smiled and waved goodbye.

Out in the vast marble corridors, she nearly bumped headlong into Gloria.

"Oh, hello Gloria." She was glad to see a familiar face.

"Hi, Monica." Gloria was always in good spirits. Her round little face was thoughtful now. "You're in a hurry."

"Oh. Well. Not really." Monica felt the tugging in her heart for humans. She longed to help them again, but at this rate, she'd never get her chance… "I'm just hanging around. What about you?"

"Oh. Me?" Gloria consulted her notepad. "I'm on the way to an assignment with Tess. A girl, Pamela, eighteen, Atlanta, Georgia. That's in the southeastern region of the United States… in North America…"

"Yes. I know where it is." Monica smiled patiently. Inside, she felt a bit lonely for Tess. It should be _she_ out on an assignment with her now. Not Gloria. Then she chastised herself for the thought. Gloria was a good little angel and in need of practice so as to hone her skill.

"Well, anyway, this girl Pamela is in love, which is nice because… well… that's what humans do, right? They fall in love… but this girl has other problems…"

As Gloria talked, Monica got lost in the words and eventually tuned them out. She was thinking of having been in human form. She was remembering Andrew. She was worried that maybe he didn't want to deal with her anymore. Not even as a friend. She wondered why he hadn't sought her out, if only to make sure she had made it out all right.

"I'm sorry, Gloria." She hated interrupting her, but she had to be alone now. "I just remembered something I need to do."

Gloria studied her face and cocked her head to the side, an analytic look crossing her pretty features. "Are you okay, Monica? You look… sad."

Monica tried her best to reign in her emotions, but it was proving difficult. "Yes. I mean, no! I'm fine. I'm not sad – just a wee bit tired." She turned away. "Tell Tess I said hello. Goodbye now."

As she dashed away from her, she let herself vanish. She didn't want Gloria poking around and seeing her cry. What would be the point of explaining it to her anyway? Gloria could never understand what it was like to be in love, from the viewpoint of an angel, at least. She was only even familiar with it because it was a human thing to do and that was her job, understanding and helping humans. What Monica didn't understand is where her circuits got crossed. She'd initially wanted to hold onto her feelings for Andrew. Now, she couldn't get rid of them. They were forever imprinted on her brain. Even if she _did_ see him now, and he didn't remember, then she'd feel so lonely knowing that he couldn't love her back in the same way…

. . .

On Earth, standing on a corroded edge of stone, Andrew waited. His blond hair flew into his face as the dessert wind picked up with the dawning evening. He'd been spending a lot of time in the Middle East lately, and it was taking a lot for him to stay on an even keel. This was getting to be too much – even for an angel of death. When he referred to his pocket watch, he glanced back over his shoulder to see Adam standing near as well.

"You have the time?" Adam murmured.

"Not long now." Andrew's features were grim as the two angels came closer.

In another instant, the car bomb exploded, and two unsuspecting soldiers were thrown violently into the fray. There were bullets and another smaller explosion in the distance as Andrew kneeled to comfort one of the men before escorting him to heaven. Across from him, Adam did the same. Around them, three or four more angels in white went to help other mortally wounded men or women.

Andrew's hazel eyes met Adam's blue ones before they took the walk together, through Earth and past the gates of heaven where another angel received the men and escorted them the rest of the way.

Andrew was about to turn and head back when Adam stopped him.

"Hey, where you going?"

Andrew gestured towards the gates. "I'm going back."

"Hey, slow down there, cowboy. You're like a maniac these last few weeks." Adam regarded Andrew. "Maybe you should take it easy."

"I don't want to take it easy." Andrew said, his face anguished. "Working is what I need to be doing."

"Why's that?" Adam rested a hand on his shoulder. "So you can forget about her?"

Andrew averted his eyes. "Adam…"

"Listen, I know all about it, Andrew. Any fool could see. It's written plain on your face. And believe me, I've seen it enough times in humans to know what love looks like."

"It's not like that." Andrew tried to reason it out in his head. "I just… I can't think of her… like that…"

"I agree." Adam smirked. "You're an angel for crying out loud."

"Exactly my point. She's… like a sister to me or…"

Adam made a face. "Don't try to kid yourself, Andrew. She may have been like a sister to you _before_, but now it's different. You're practically bleeding out. Why don't you go and talk to her?"

Andrew shook his head. "Because I can't do that. I can't see her. Not yet."

"Why not? The two of you need to talk. Then at least you can… move on from it. Together."

Andrew nodded, but what he didn't say was that he didn't _want_ to move on from it. He _wanted_ to see her, _wanted_ to hold her again. In spite of everything and the trouble they could get into, he wanted to kiss her. He put a hand to his temple as he thought of it.

"You okay?" Adam was truly concerned as Andrew's face seemed to turn colors. "You don't look so hot. Maybe you should go see one of the counselors."

"No! The last thing I need is an angel poking around in my head. I can… manage without that. I think."

"Well, I don't know how much longer you can avoid her." Adam leaned against a stone pillar. "There's that gathering later, with the choir and the worship and the mingling. You know how Tess likes to put on for those."

"I can't be around Tess." Andrew's face flushed to white. "As soon as I set one foot near her, she'll know. She picks up on these things so easily. She can read an angel like a book."

Adam nodded. "Yes, you have a point there." He sighed. "Maybe you should accept defeat. It can't be all bad, being banished to Earth – or worse, purgatory."

Andrew was shaken, but he laughed it off. "Purgatory is a myth."

Adam grinned. "Okay. Believe what you want, my friend. I better get going." He winked as he strolled off, vanishing as he did. "Until next time."

"Until next time." Andrew watched him fade away. He waited a few moments, trying to decide where to go next. Heaven reminded him of her too much. Everything was beautiful like her eyes, the smell of flowers, flowing like her hair, dark and lush. He missed her so much, needed her. It was definitely going to take a while to get over her. That much he knew, but how long?

. . .

Monica sat in a great hall listening to the choir practicing. It was one of her favorite pastimes. Tiny angels fluttered past her giggling to themselves, beautiful perfect little angels, oblivious of anything bad. She wondered if she had ever been that small, and the thought of it brought tears to her eyes. She thought of children on earth and of how they start off the same way, so innocent and so pure until eventually they begin to grow and change until they aren't so pure anymore. She thought of how sad it was to lose something like that. Her face was buried in her hands as she cried and she nearly didn't hear the little voice in front of her.

"Hello." The tiny angel spoke to her, flaxen ringlets all about his head surrounding a round little face and rosy cheeks. "Why are you sad?"

Monica raised her head and wiped her tears. "Oh. I don't know." She attempted to smile. "I think I'm just a little lonely."

"Oh." The little angel climbed into her lap then and hugged her so close; Monica felt fresh tears spring to her eyes. "Well, you don't have to be lonely. I'll stay with you as long as you want me to."

Monica wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his hair as he sang to her so sweetly in his rich viola voice. "Thank you, wee angel." She whispered as her tears began to subside. "Thank you so much."

She didn't know how long they stayed that way, but eventually, someone came looking for him.

"There you are, Christian!" a choir director was reaching for him. "I knew I was missing a soprano!"

"I was helping her not be sad." He said, but Monica released him from her embrace.

"It's alright, wee angel." She rested a hand on his cheek. "You've helped me so much. Thank you."

He beamed at her. "Good. Angels shouldn't be sad."

"I'm all better now." She waved to him as he was lead away by the elder angel. When she turned her head, she saw a familiar face and invited him to sit with her.

"Rafael, hello."

He perched beside her on the satin lined bench. "He's right you know. Angels shouldn't be sad."

Monica nodded. "I don't even know if I am an angel anymore, Rafael. I don't feel like one."

Rafael smiled at her, his coffee colored face so smooth and pleasant. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't."

She nodded and looked down at her hands. "I miss him."

Rafael nodded. "I know you do."

"I don't know what to do."

He exhaled, slowly. "I don't know what to tell you. I feel responsible for your pain. I helped the two of you get together."

"It wasn't your fault, Rafael. I feel it was part of God's plan, but I just… I wish it didn't hurt so much."

"I don't think it has to." He waited, and then he had a glimmer of a revelation, lighting his dark eyes. "Come to the fête tonight."

"Oh, I couldn't." she shook her head. "I don't feel much like celebrating."

"Please, angel, trust me." And when she looked at him, she saw that he was glowing from within, golden through and through. The sight of him like that took her breath away - the way it must be when humans experience it. "Trust me."

How could she refuse? "Alright. I'll come."

. . .

Nights on earth were amazingly beautiful at times, but nights in heaven were a millions times more beautiful. The stars were so close they seemed within grasp. Marble pillars shone with the light of the moon, and the darkness was exciting and new, like every day. There was nothing bad lurking in the shadows, only happiness and love. Angels greeted one another with a hug or a kiss or a friendly wave or pat on the back.

Monica stayed her distance as she watched Tess adorn herself with colorful beads and wrap her long ebony and ivory hair up into a lovely assortment of jeweled combs. She was, as usual, a featured singer tonight, and Monica was thrilled for her.

"It's going to be lovely, Tess. Your singing is a true gift from the creator."

"It's my _favorite_ gift from Him, angel girl. And there are so many." She turned around to regard the Irish angel and even though Monica smiled and pretended to be in good spirits, she could see the cloudiness in her dark eyes. "And why the long face?"

Monica averted her eyes. "Oh, I'm fine. I… I just." She paused, at a loss for words. "I'm very happy."

Tess put her hands on her hips. "I know you've heard the saying, 'Actions speak louder than words.'"

Monica nodded, sheepish. "Yes."

"Then you know that people who go around moping with slumped shoulders aren't happy."

Monica nodded. She was trying her best not to cry. She needed Tess' warm embrace, but she didn't want to give away her true mood. Tess would undoubtedly make a big deal of it, and then she'd find herself with a whole other set of problems.

"You go ahead to the concert hall without me, Tess." Monica said in a soft voice. "I'll come along later. First I have to… do something."

Tess didn't argue, but she did stop and look at the little angel, smoothing her hair away from her face, the way a mother would. "Just remember to come in through the _south entrance_, angel baby. And keep your chin up. Things are going to work out just fine. I promise you."

Monica nodded. Tess' words seemed oddly appropriate as she walked out and towards the concert hall. Monica stayed behind and dressed slowly for the performance, in a long white gown with diagonal crossed ribbons in front in the style of Greek Goddess mythology. She pinned her hair up with delicate white combs and pulled a sheer crepe shawl over her shoulders. Even if she wasn't going to see Andrew, she still thought of him as she put little touches of detail on her wardrobe.

. . .

As Andrew materialized in heaven, he heard the glorious sound of the choir already, filling him up with joy – and it was only the warm-up! He sauntered to the edge of the long white corridor and looked inside the entrance where the crowd was filling in. There were so many angels here, but there were hundreds of millions of angels down on earth, helping humans through their trials and tribulations. Andrew wondered if it wouldn't cure all just having a taste of this angelic sound for a few moments.

He was hesitant to go inside. He was dressed as a human right now. He hadn't bothered to wear a suit, and he didn't feel up to changing. He was in khaki pants and a white canvas shirt. He looked mussed and unkempt, but it didn't matter. He would sneak around to the other side of the hall towards the south entrance, just to get a view of Tess and maybe hear a few bars of the children's choir. It would be worth it for that, and he would be undetected there.

As he went around the hall, he saw fewer and fewer angels. The crowd had all filed inside, and he felt almost alone, but his heart told him he wasn't. He felt himself start to shiver, and he went to the small entrance that looked like a service door and waited. He didn't go inside because his feet wouldn't let him. Instead he stood his ground, and when he turned, he saw her there, a vision in white, long reddish dark hair pulled up and spilling over her porcelain shoulders. Her deep brown eyes were glassy, and he felt his heart sink. She had been looking for him. All this time, and…

He went to her, took her in his arms, held her to him. Her voice caught in her throat, and she hiccupped, sank into his embrace. "Monica…" He pulled back to look at her, touch her face, her chin, trace her delicately arched brows. "… I'm so sorry."

Their faces came in close, foreheads resting against each other's. Her hands found his hair and dragged through the silky wheat colored locks. They were breathing the same breath and then his mouth came in close and met hers, so powerful it took her breath away. He parted her lips with his and tasted her, tasted her tears, felt his knees weaken as he did. She was clinging to him, and then they were glowing, the choir's voices elevating them even higher until Andrew pulled back long enough to rasp, "Not here…"

And then they were standing in a field, on Earth. He was holding her to him, eyes linked as he moved in for another passionate rapturous kiss. He could stay this way forever, but he needed to get his bearings. She rested a hand on his chest, above his heart.

"Andrew…" she was out of breath.

"I don't care. I don't care about purgatory as long as we're together."

She looked fondly at him, planted a gentle kiss on his lips and looked around. "Where are we?"

He looked down, his feet buried in grass up to the calf. "I thought you might recognize it…"

She turned and took in the deep green rolling countryside, the endless planes and fields, the abandoned castle sitting off in the distance regal and lonely. Her heart was so filled as she realized… "Andrew, Ireland?"

He nodded. "It was the one place that reminded me of you. For obvious reasons."

"Thank you." She hugged him to her. "But why did we leave?"

He shrugged. "I know we can't hide our love from the Father, but I wasn't so sure about another angel. I thought of Tess putting me in a headlock and I thought I should get us out of there fast."

They both broke out into laughter, but then turned serious. "Andrew, I can't help myself. I can't stop thinking about… us."

"Neither can I. It's hard to believe we were ever 'just' friends. I can't imagine that now. All the times I touched you, hugged you, and it was platonic. My angel brain couldn't grasp the concept of loving you in any other way… until now. It's the reason I couldn't see you at first. I was afraid of loving you too much."

"Will we be punished?" she asked, her voice soft.

Andrew shrugged. "I don't know." Then he held her to him. "I don't want to think about it now. I just want to be with you and deal with the consequences later. If loving you is a crime, then I guess I'm doomed."

She looked into his eyes and linked her fingers around his neck. "Kiss me again?"

He tugged her body to his. "As if you had to ask…" and then they were kissing, mouths melding together, his tongue flowing forward to really savor her. When they were too overcome to remain standing, they sank into the cool damp grass and lay side by side, his hands in her long dark hair, and hers resting on his chest. Several times, they had to call themselves back from the brink, to remind themselves who they really were, angels – not humans. The distinction was getting more and more difficult to ascertain. It was tricky to not let go completely for fear of never finding their way back, but when they found a comfortable pace, they went with it. And if it was a sin and a crime, they decided they would face it, whatever 'it' was, together…


	14. Chapter 14

**WHoa! Listen, sorry it has taken so long to update, (life got pretty hectic there for a while), but here is the fourteenth and final chapter. It was bittersweet to write, but it's done. Thanks so much for all the feedback. Thanks for being so kind and following the story. It made it all worth it. Hopefully I'll be posting a new story again soon. I actually have started a new one, but I'm not sure I'll post it here because... *cough*... well... many reasons... Anyway. Thanks again for all the support! Its been a blast! **

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The sun was warm and intense as they lay together on the grass, Monica resting against Andrew's chest. She could feel his heart beat through his shirt and marveled in the feel of it. His hands were in her hair and she was enjoying the feel of his fingertips holding her head lightly. She rolled over, almost on top of him and caressed his mouth with her own, loving the sound of his sharp intake of breath, the soft moan that escaped from the back of his throat. She loved everything about him. His human form was so beautiful to her, and she wondered if he felt the same about her.

"Andrew, I never want to leave this place." Her voice was a breath as she spoke.

His eyelids fluttered open as he looked at her, kissed her face. "I know, but we have to."

She didn't question him, but she wondered why. She wondered what would be so wrong with staying here, with staying human with him and having a family. She clung to him and breathed in the scent of him. He was warm and soft and hard at the same time. His body was so perfectly sculpted, crafted by God himself. And then she remembered God's greatest creations. Humans.

"It's for them isn't it?" her voice was a whisper as she asked it.

And Andrew nodded. He didn't need clarification. He loved being an angel almost as much as he loved Monica. It was his entire reason for existing. Helping them. He took the most pleasure out of life when he was able to assist some poor lost soul home to be with the Father. He also loved doing casework, simply being a friend to someone in need, protecting a small child from harm or staying by the side of an elderly woman as she waited alone for word from a long lost loved one.

Now, he leaned over and captured Monica's mouth with his own. This kiss was not urgent or overly passionate but more a promise, to always love her, to stay with her no matter the circumstances. She reached up and held him to her. She had never thought of touching him so much before. Back then, it was merely a comfort just having him near, the same as having Tess. Andrew was like a pillar of strength, a friend, someone to talk to. Now, he was so much more. At times, she considered trading her immortality for him, and the thought of it sent a shiver up her spine so strong that he looked at her, into her eyes. He studied her deeply.

"I know what you're thinking." He said, his smile light. "And I think the world would be lost without you."

She shut her eyes and rested her face against his shirt. "I would be lost without you."

"You never have to be without me, Monica." He ran his hands through her long silky dark hair. "I don't think God would punish us in such a way. We've always been good and faithful servants to Him…"

"But what about this? What about now?" she was holding him so close. "Andrew, are we committing a sin just being here?"

He shook his head even though he wasn't entirely sure. "I don't know, but it doesn't feel like a sin. It feels like a blessing."

"And it is a blessing, angel babies." Tess's voice startled the angels into a standing position, and even though she was smiling, they stood apart from one another, like frightened children caught playing naughty games. Andrew flushed deeply, and Monica found she was unable to meet Tess' gaze. What must she be thinking?

"Tess…um… hello." Monica kept her eyes averted.

"It's alright, angel girl." Tess was smiling. "Fear not. I have come bringing tidings of joy." She grinned as she approached them. "Where have you heard that one before?"

Andrew and Monica laughed softly in spite of themselves. "What's the message, Tess?"

Tess held both of their hands in hers. "I didn't think I could be an advocate for this, but seeing the two of you together is like a warm breath of fresh air. You both have been summoned by the Angel of Angels."

Monica shuddered, but Andrew simply nodded, his face a visage of bravery. "When, Tess?"

Tess glanced up into the heavens, shielding her eyes from the bright rays of sunlight. "I think as soon as you can get your little angel selves up there." But her tone was playful.

"Alright." Andrew swallowed once, hard. His hazel eyes glanced at Monica and he reached for her hand, but Monica hesitated.

"First, I want a word alone with Tess." She smiled at him, reassuring him that she would be along soon. "Please, Andrew."

He nodded. "I'll wait for you up there, then."

She smiled after him as he walked towards the horizon and vanished, leaving she and Tess alone. It was awkward at first, facing Tess, but then she found that Tess was smiling.

"Oh, Tess!" she reached for her and let herself be pulled into a warm embrace. "I don't know how it happened. I just… I fell in love with him."

"Any other time, I would lecture you on heavenly beaurocracy, angel girl, but now's not the time." She pulled back to look into Monica's tear-stained face and smoothed her hair away from her face, so motherly. "If my blessing was all it took, then you'd have it, but this is so unusual. Not unheard of, but very rare. Two angels in love. It seems simple enough, but it's very complicated. A human concept."

"Has it ever happened to you, Tess?" Monica was curious.

Tess, for the first time that Monica had ever seen, was completely naive of the idea. "I never imagined it could happen to an angel, baby. I never needed any other kind of love than that provided by the Father. But every angel is different…"

Now, Monica felt terrible, as if she had committed some sort of treason. "I didn't think I needed it, Tess. I just know that I love being with him. It's much deeper than that. I can't put it into words. But it's written all over my heart."

Tess wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder. "And it shows, angel girl. You're glowing all over. God's grace has elevated the two of you to an even higher level than before."

"I feel it, Tess. Like a warm blanket." She looked into Tess' familiar brown face, searching for an answer. "I just hope He will accept us this way. I don't want to be an abomination or get banished from heaven… or worse…" she shuddered and Tess held her tighter, reassuring her.

"Oh, don't think about such things, baby. God always provides answers – and He always makes a way for his children. _All_ of his children, humans and angels alike." She hugged Monica one last time. "But you better go on up there and receive word from the Angel of Angels. He has made time for you now, but he won't wait forever…"

Monica nodded, feeling herself trembling.

"Tess, I'm afraid."

"Has God ever let you down before?"

Monica shook her head, slowly, feeling a lump of fear form in her throat and in her belly.

"And He won't let you down now." She pointed towards the heavens. "Now get on up there and face the music."

Monica nodded and started off towards the horizon line; along the same path that Andrew took until she was there with him, standing before the administrative offices.

. . .

Andrew held Monica's tiny hand in his as they made their way through the spotless corridors. He didn't want to leave her again, but the thought of not being accepted as a couple made him feel a little uneasy. If he had to face being banished from heaven forever, he would be fine, but he didn't want that for Monica. She was too good of an angel and too helpful to never be allowed back. It would destroy her.

He turned to her now, pushing a stray lock of her dark hair from her face. "Listen, Monica, you don't have to do this. You can tell them it was a mistake…"

"But it wasn't a mistake, Andrew." She stared into his hazel eyes, searching his soul. "I love you too. God knows it."

He exhaled, turned to look off into the distance, the wind playing in his sandy hair. "I don't know what we're facing. I want to be with you, and I'm willing to accept whatever punishment for that, but… maybe I'm not worth that much…"

"Andrew, please don't say such things." She reached up to caress his face with her gentle fingertips. "I want to face it together. I don't want to leave you now. Or ever."

He hesitated for a moment before taking her into his arms. "You're so beautiful - inside and out." He buried his face in her thick luscious hair. "I am _so_ in love with you."

"Oh, Andrew." She looked up into his eyes and brought her mouth to his. He was so perfect to her, in every way. She was prepared to face whatever happened as well, and then she saw a familiar face over Andrew's shoulder and broke the kiss. "Sam!"

Monica let go of Andrew and stood a little apart from him as Sam approached. She was terrified of what her superior might say, but she stood her ground. Incidentally, he didn't seem to be upset or even surprised.

"Hello, Angels." His face was pleasant as he regarded the two of them. "I see you two finally found your way back."

Monica felt warmth in her face as she tried to explain. "Yes, Sam, we… I was… Andrew and I …we…"

"I agree." He replied as if it was the most natural turn of phrase. "You two certainly need to figure this thing out. Personally, I think you're well suited for each other. But my opinion isn't the one that matters. God's is."

Both Andrew and Monica were shocked by his admitted approval.

"Thank you for your kind words, Sam." Andrew said, reaching for his hand and shaking it affectionately. "Thank you."

"Well, if you're waiting for the Angel of Angel's, then he is ready, I'm sure."

Monica nodded, her face flushed with heat. She had only met the Angel of Angels one other time, and that was during another test phase where she nearly failed due to some evil interference on Kathleen's part. It had nearly cost her everything – and now here she was again. It was frightening to her, but she had to face him. Andrew was worth it.

She and Andrew stood outside the door, side by side, until a deep voice told them to enter.

They entered and stood facing an impromptu panel of other higher-ups, angels to whom they would present their case, no doubt. And Monica and Andrew felt like they were under serious scrutiny by the administration, like naughty school children. Andrew's face was flushed and Monica looked paler than normal.

"Monica, you're looking well." His voice was bass as he spoke. "You're both well rested, I take it?"

Andrew nodded. "Yes."

Monica found her voice. "Quite well-rested, thank you."

"I assume you both know why you're here."

Andrew and Monica glanced at one another then back at the others. "I think so." Andrew said.

"Yes, well. What has happened between the two of you is quite irregular, indeed." He paused as the two angels waited. "But not unheard of." The angels held their breaths. "There is generally a waiting period of two to three decades while the higher powers ponder such a union, a romantic association between angels. Your love for one another would have to be deemed absolutely pure and acceptable in heaven and then you both would be given a choice whether to remain angels of God's high court or sent to live among the humans, who your love so greatly resembles…"

"You mean… we're meant to _choose_?" Monica spoke in such a quiet voice that she was barely heard.

"Sir…" Andrew spoke up now, his eyes determined. "… Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, shouldn't it be enough that our love for one another is _of_ God? Doesn't that make it pure love in and of itself?"

The other panelist remained silent as the Angel of Angel's heaved a great sigh. "There are many types of love, my valiant angel," he spoke in his deep voice, "but you are too soon from your recent assessment on earth where you worked closely with humans, some of whom were not so untainted. Before contact with them, you did not know romantic love."

"I know what I feel." Andrew said in a sure voice. "I know what love is."

"Andrew…" Monica whispered, fearing the tone of Andrew's voice.

"No, Monica, I think if I'm doomed anyway, I may as well say what's on my mind."

"Please, by all means…" the Angel of Angels was not in the least bit phased by Andrew's resolve.

"I mean no disrespect." He began in his calm voice, his hazel eyes darkened. "It's just that I care about her to my very core. I want what's best for her. I've always wanted what's best for her. I love her unconditionally, romantic or otherwise. The Father knows this." He glanced at Monica. "However, if that means that she will lose her position as caseworker, a position she's worked so hard to get, then I'll do whatever I need to do to keep her job. Even if it means… even if it means letting her go."

"Andrew!" tears sprang to Monica's eyes. "No!" she looked at the Angel of Angels. "Please, he doesn't mean it!"

"Yes, Monica, I do." Andrew turned to her and held her hands in his. "Monica, you've never seen your face after you help someone, how happy you are, how fulfilled and overflowing with God's grace and love. I can never come close to giving you that much happiness – and no one, human or otherwise, should be denied knowing you. It would be a sin and a crime."

"But I love you, Andrew." Tears rolled down her cheeks as he pulled her into his arms. He didn't care who was watching or how outraged they were about it. He wanted to keep her safe and warm inside his embrace forever, but there were other forces at work… always other forces…

The Angel of Angels cleared his throat so their childlike faces turned to look at him. He was so much older than them that they seemed like innocent babies to him, so youthful in their optimism. He recalled a time long ago, when life was new. It warmed him to see such beautiful creatures as this, but the decision was not his to make…

"This jury will now deliberate." He spoke in a business-like tone. "If it is to be, then God will smile down on your union and you will have your love for all the rest of your days. If he does not deem this love fit for heaven, then you will leave this room and you will never know that you were ever together in this way. Andrew, when you look at Monica, you will see a fellow angel, a caseworker with whom you will occasionally work and be cordial with. Monica, you will see the same when you look at Andrew. It will be, as they say, business as usual."

A small sob escaped Monica's lips at the thought.

The Angel of Angels continued. "For now, you will exit this room and face your destiny."

Monica held tight Andrew's hand as they exited the room…

. . .

On earth, a girl stood pondering life beside a small river. She was hopeful and optimistic. Her wooly dreadlocks fell across her eye as she pushed them back and smiled into the sparkling water, the sun glistening off its surface. She thought she saw a fish dancing just beneath the murky depths, and then she looked behind her to see a woman she recognized. Her smile was glad.

"Monica." She jogged towards her and threw her arms around the slender Irish woman. "God, I missed you."

"And I missed you." Monica was regarding her, taking in the sight of her healthy friend. She looked like she had been living a straight life for a good long while now. "You look well."

Caryn nodded. "I _am_ well. I feel good. I stopped hanging out at the gambling hall, doing those stupid drugs, and enrolled back into college. I thought maybe it's not too late to get my degree…"

"You're right. It's _never_ too late." Monica smiled, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I just thought I'd check in on you since I was passing through."

"I'm glad you did." Caryn took in the sight of Monica, her long dark reddish hair, the sparkling brown eyes. She looked so ethereal standing here on earth, like she didn't belong. She was like… well… like an angel. Caryn was eternally grateful to have known her at all, to have been saved from the brink by her. "I wish you could stay."

"Well, I have some very important work to do, but… I'll be around." Monica's eyes seemed to sparkle even more as she said it, and Caryn found she was filled with a deep sense of peace.

"Thank you so much, Monica. For everything."

Monica nodded and Caryn waved as she walked away, towards her new full life.

The angel hung around the park feeling expectant. Something was amiss, but she didn't know what. The children playing in the park offset perfectly the rainbow that was forming in the sky, the soft chattering of parents, the promise of casework. Tess was nearby; Monica could sense her – but she could also sense someone else…

And there, standing in the distance, he waited for her. At first, his eyes were neutral, his hand waving slightly, the wind blowing his long wheat colored locks about his head. Monica approached him, smiling, glad to see him. And then, without words, he drew her in, his arms wrapping around her, his mouth capturing hers.

God had smiled down on them after all, had granted them pardon, and Monica was glad. There was nothing better than this.

END


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